


In It for the Long Haul

by kbs_was_here, PrettyLittlePoutyMouth



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Road Trips, Truckers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyLittlePoutyMouth/pseuds/PrettyLittlePoutyMouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's chosen a new and fascinating career. Rachel wants to know more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It isn’t until the big rig, grass green with a flourish of emerald accent along the cab, pulls into the bed and breakfast parking lot and a familiar blonde with a seemingly ever present expression of “yeah, so?” painted across her lips climbs out of it that people realize the rumors about Quinn Fabray are true.

She’s become a trucker. Like an honest-to-goodness person who drives a truck.

“Told you,” Puck says, ribbing Kurt with an elbow while simultaneously chewing on the chocolate chip cookie he acquired upon check-in.

"I can't stop staring." Kurt's gaze keeps bouncing from the flannel shirt to the blue jeans to the truck itself. But he doesn't have time to tally all the fashion violations because he’s getting married in three hours and he has things to do. “She is changing her clothes, right?” Though, the benefit of Quinn looking like… well, a trucker is that she definitely won’t be better dressed than either groom.

There’s really nothing to worry about, because Quinn checks into the B&B like a civilized person, then disappears up the stairs with her garment bag slung over her shoulder. By the time she arrives at the ceremony, which is being held in the on-site garden, she’s as stunning as she’s ever been in a classy, simple blue dress that doesn’t outshine the wedding couple.

By now, word has gotten around to all of the fifty-six invited guests about Quinn’s current profession. Quinn takes a seat in the sixth row, right next to Santana, and she can tell everyone probably has an opinion about her life. They always do.

Santana leans over, still looking forward, and says, “I’m not saying it’ll happen, but if this wedding turns out anything like the last one we went to, I’m not fucking you in that Meals on Wheels Pussy Wagon out there.”

Quinn’s response is to give Santana a firm shove, then she offers her a Wintergreen Life Saver, because it’s four in the afternoon and they all know they probably aren’t eating dinner until six.

The ceremony finally begins and there’s Blaine standing with Cooper and Brittany (who’s been ordained as a minister ever since she had that brief stint in wanting to start her own church a couple years ago). The wedding processional moves down the aisle; Puck, Sam, Rachel. Burt and Carole are on either side of Kurt as they walk with him, and when they sit, there’s a vacant seat in the front row with Finn’s framed picture resting on it.

As Rachel fidgets with the small bouquet in her hands, she glances at the picture with a small smile. He’s missed today, but with fondness, not sadness. Seven years has been enough time to heal, though times like these will probably always be bittersweet, because everyone’s back together and there’s a piece missing from the skyline of their group photos.

Rachel looks over the rows of faces that are staring back at her. Well, not at her, but at the grooms. Okay, Quinn seems to be looking at her, if only for a moment. Everyone’s been talking about how Quinn showed up looking like an Indigo Girls roadie (Santana’s choice words), but Rachel thinks she looks as elegant as always. She’s always preferred Quinn’s shorter, choppier hair and that’s how it is now, hanging around her face, catching the breeze just enough that Quinn has to brush it away from her eyes every couple of minutes.

But Rachel’s attention is soon drawn back to the two grooms as the ceremony begins, and barely wavers. It’s a lovely ceremony; Brittany has a surprising knack for the requested recitations, the vows are lovely, and both men are at their handsomest. It had been kind of a rough road for Kurt and Blaine. They’d spent almost four years apart, dating other people, before managing to find their way back to each other about three years ago and working through their trust issues. Rachel had written Blaine off at one point as bad for Kurt, but now, as she watches them gaze starry-eyed at each other, she has full confidence that they’re a perfect match.

And luckily, the ceremony really isn’t that long. They’d elected to keep it fairly simple, and enjoy a long reception with an open bar with their friends. When the recessional music plays, and Rachel follows the grooms out of the garden, she searches the crowd surreptitiously for Quinn as she walks by, but it’s hard to find her in the sea of people standing and applauding.

Out of everyone there that she has kept in contact with solely on Facebook, Quinn is the one that she is most eager to talk to. _Especially_ since those trucker rumors appear to be true. She didn’t believe it until Kurt told her to look out at the parking lot at the giant rig.

But at the reception, she’s stuck sitting at the wedding party’s table at first, with a plate of salad and fruit and a glass of champagne, and has to stay seated with them while guests come up to congratulate Kurt and Blaine. Quinn’s visit to the table is brief, and she apologizes that she won’t be able to stay at the reception for more than an hour or so, and Rachel barely gets a chance to greet her before she moves aside to allow other guests to congratulate the grooms.

Quinn manages to stick around long enough for Santana to ingest no less than three tequila sunrises and there’s a fourth in her hand when she stands up on a chair to toast Kurt and Blaine.

“I just want to say that this is the best lesbian wedding I’ve been to.” She glances down at Quinn, whose grip on her leg is the only thing keeping Santana on top of the chair. “That’s what they call them here in Vermont, right? Because…” When Quinn just stares at her, amused, Santana scoffs. “Quinn. They’re driving a Volvo to their honeymoon in Maine.”

Once Santana is earthbound, again, Quinn politely says goodnight to the grooms and begins the rounds of saying goodbye to her friends who are mostly scattered across the dancefloor.

In the spirit of celebration, Rachel has had a few glasses of champagne. But she’s fine, honestly. Though as she’s talking to Mercedes and catching up on her life, she excuses herself when she hears Sam saying goodnight to Quinn. If Mercedes is upset at being left mid-sentence, she doesn’t show it.

Rachel elbows her way through the crowd and reaches the doorway, where she finds Brittany wishing Quinn goodnight.

“But, like, I have to know,” Brittany murmurs conspiratorially, “Does it transform into anything cool? I’m sure it’s like, a secret, but you can tell me. I have clearance up through--”

“Um, no, sadly I just went with a basic model,” Quinn answers, “You know, for my first rig and all. Maybe they upgrade when you get more experienced.”

Brittany offers an affirming nod, “Well, goodnight Quinn!”

As they pull away from the hug, Rachel grabs Quinn’s arm, “Quinn! I haven’t had a chance to talk to you at all!”

Quinn turns to her and smiles a little, “Hey, Rachel. It’s okay. You were pretty busy.”

“I’m not busy now! How have you been? I heard you’re driving a truck these days?”

“Yeah,” Quinn answers neutrally, not meeting Rachel’s eye, “Which is exactly why I need to get to bed. I have a haul to pick up in the morning.”

“Oh,” Rachel answers, crestfallen. “Are you sure you can’t stay longer? I’ve missed you!”

“Nope,” Quinn shakes her head, then adds a, “Sorry. I’ve really got to go, Rachel. Enjoy the reception!” She hands Rachel what’s left of her glass of champagne, offers her a well-practiced smile, and leaves before Rachel can offer another plea to stay.

Once she’s clear of the tented reception area, Quinn heads immediately for the inn and ascends the stairs up to her room. She kicks off her wedges and sheds her dress, wanting to just fall into the soft, quilt-covered bed, but she remembers that she still needs to take her dog for a walk before she can actually call it a night.

With a grumble, Quinn pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then slips her feet into her work boots, which actually feel much more comfortable than the shoes she’s been wearing all evening. She grabs her room key and shoves it in her pocket as she heads back down the stairs and out into the open air. She has to give credit to the newlyweds. Vermont is absolutely gorgeous in the spring.

In the two and a half years she’s been long haul trucking back and forth across the country, she’s realized how much there is to see. It was part of the appeal of the profession, really. It was certainly much more of a draw than whatever Russell was hoping to thrust her into after graduation. He’d suddenly resurfaced in her life once it was apparent his daughter was about accept a diploma from Yale with a political science degree. Quinn had no interest in taking him up on any of his connections. Instead, she took her trust fund money, the only stipulation being that she had to graduate from college, and invested it in a future that no one expected of her.

As an independent trucker, she had to work a little harder to find jobs, but the resilience and determination that got her through high school seem to work just as well in landing bids. She also has the benefit of money in the bank, at least for now, and it’s just her. No family. A small mortgage on a house just outside of Pittsburgh. Her truck. And her dog.

There’s a black furry face resting on the edge of the open passenger side window. As soon as the dog sees Quinn, she barks, just once, as if to remind her owner that she's been waiting.

"Relax," Quinn calls out. The dog barks again and Quinn replies with a stern, “ _JD_.”

JD quiets, but whimpers a little, her tail wagging rapidly enough that Quinn can hear it hitting the seat. Quinn opens the door and the dog jumps down out of the cab, then obediently waits for Quinn to latch the leash onto her collar.

“At least one of these bitches is well trained.” It’s Puck and he’s apparently stalking around in the dark, smoking a cigarette.

“Don’t sneak up on people like that. My dog will tear your balls off.”

“I might believe it if I hadn’t trained her, myself.” He offers Quinn a Camel from the pack he’s holding, but she shakes her head.

Puck’s the one responsible for Quinn even owning a dog. JD, short for Jackie Daniels (because Quinn hadn’t allowed him to name their baby that but he wasn’t about to let it go to waste), had been a puppy when he’d picked her out at the animal shelter. Most of her genetic make-up seemed to be black lab, but there was enough of something else to give her a white bib. She was about a year old when Puck learned Quinn had taken to the road and he insisted she take the dog as protection.

“You did well. You’re the only guy she likes.” Quinn begrudgingly allows the compliment, because JD is actually good at intimidation.

Being a female trucker is not without the occasional frightening moments, and she’s been grateful for JD for that reason, as well as the company.

“Could say the same about y--” But Quinn’s fist makes contact with his stomach and that’s the end of the conversation.

Puck walks with her while she waits for JD to do her business. The party is still raging in the reception tent, judging from the sound of the Cha-Cha Slide.

After finishing what’s left of Quinn’s champagne, Rachel tries to mingle with her friends, but she can’t seem to shake the desire to corner Quinn and find out just what’s been going on with her. She can’t even seem to focus on one of her favorite wedding dances and after the second “take it back now, y’all” she just backs out the door of the tent, determined to find her friend.

Across the wide span of grass, Rachel sees Quinn and Puck standing next to the giant green anti-environmental monstrosity that Quinn apparently calls home, these days. A black dog jumps up into the open door of the cab, then Quinn shuts the door and allows Puck to give her a hug.

“That bitch,” Rachel mumbles to herself. “She told me she was leaving tomorrow!” As the two part ways, heading toward different sections of the property, Rachel strides purposefully toward the giant vehicle, her heels sinking awkwardly into the grass as she does so. She’s nearly twisted an ankle by the time she makes it to the truck. Puck is out of sight, having taken the long way back to the reception tent, perhaps giving himself time to finish his cigarette, and Quinn has evidently gone back to her room to retrieve her things. Rachel decides to wait in the cab for Quinn, to force her to to talk to her.

The dog peers at her through the open window, but doesn’t appear threatening, so Rachel carefully positions herself on the metal steps and pulls at the handle. It takes a bit of a balancing act for her not to tumble backward onto the lawn, but once she has a grip on the inner door, she hoists herself up into the passenger seat, which is now vacant, because the black dog has moved across the cab to the driver’s seat.

“Good dog,” Rachel says, cautiously. The shiny silver tag on the collar around the dog’s neck has the letters, “J.D.” on it. “Is that your name? JD?”

The dog dips its head and sniffs at Rachel’s arm, then gives it a lick and there’s the sound of a tail thumping against the upholstery of the seat.

“She thinks she’s going to give me the slip.” Maybe it’s the champagne that’s inspiring her to talk like she’s playing in some late night black and white movie.

The dog cocks its head curiously. The tail continues to thump.

“But I’ll tell you what, she’s not getting out of here without having a conversation. Because I’m resolved. I’m staying right. Here.” She points at the seat dramatically, then folds her arms and faces toward the front.

But Quinn doesn’t come back. Instead, she revels in the downy softness of the inn’s luxury mattress and takes complete advantage of a room all to herself. A hot bath, some cool sheets, and twenty minutes alone with her Pink Lady bullet vibrator is enough to send her into a deep, relaxed sleep.

At least until two in the morning, when her alarm sounds. She makes a cup of french roast in the single cup coffee maker that sits in her room, then she’s quick to pack up. It was already understood by the inn staff that she’d be checking out this early, so she leaves the room key on the appropriate hook and lets herself out the front door. It’s a four hour drive to her pick-up, so she knows JD will need a quick walk before they hit the road. The dog isn’t curled up in the front seat like she usually is, and it takes a few whispered calls of her name (as to not wake everyone else, who probably just fell into bed a couple hours ago) before the black dog emerges from behind the curtain that separates the front of the cab from the sleeping bunk.

Once JD is walked and Quinn lets her back into the truck, the dog immediately pushes through the gray curtain to lie on the bed. “I know it’s early, girl, but we have a long trip ahead of us.” Again, it’s whispered, because it’s just too damn early for anything else.

When Quinn gets to the warehouse in Utica, NY, she’s ready for another cup of coffee and as soon as the trailer she’ll be hauling is hitched to her rig, she asks where she can find one.

Rachel wakes up to a rumble, a clank, then the sound of someone swearing. There’s a dog curled up next to her and she wonders just what the theme of this bed and breakfast is supposed to be before she realizes she’s been waiting in Quinn’s truck. Apparently, she’s been waiting all night, because there’s dim light coming in from the window above her head.

The door opens and Quinn calls out, "You okay back there, girl?"

It's kind of a surreal question, but Rachel answers it, anyway. "Yes?"

"What the fuck?" The curtain yanks to the side and there's Quinn, in a red and black checked shirt, looking furious, but also gorgeous considering it's six in the morning, according to the digital clock on the dash. "Rachel?!"

"Hi." JD's tail wags as she sits up next to Rachel.

Quinn narrows her eyes at the dog. "Some security you turned out to be."


	2. Chapter 2

As thrown as Quinn is by finding Rachel in the bunk of her cab, she’s also conscious of the fact that she has to get moving. “Stay there,” she commands, both to Rachel and the dog, and she gets into the driver’s seat so she can pull out of the loading dock to get back onto the highway. She takes a deep breath once she’s back on the road. Even under the circumstances, this is always a moment of elation.

“Do I have to stay back here?” comes Rachel’s voice, “I don’t feel safe without a seat belt.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn murmurs to herself, “Yes, fine, come up here and buckle up.”

“Thank you,” Rachel parts the curtain and moves unsteadily to seat herself. She leans back and closes her eyes.

Quinn watches in her peripheral vision for awhile before sighing. "Water?" she asks. Rachel nods vigorously, then winces. "There's a mini-fridge behind me. And a cabinet behind you with a first aid kit.”

Rachel rises and totters around to grab the items she needs. Once she’s seated, re-buckled, and has had an ibuprofen, Quinn asks, “So, what exactly are you doing in my cab?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Rachel answers, as if this is a completely normal situation.

“Ooookay,” Quinn answers, “And you had to come on my haul with me to do that?”

Rachel shrugs, “Well, it’s okay. I wasn’t expecting this part, but it would be fun to ride with you some today. I mean, you could just take me back in time for brunch, right?”

“Um. No. Absolutely not. I have a schedule to keep.”

Rachel frowns. It was her idea to even have a New Directions Reunion Brunch, in the first place. But she’s not about to let Quinn’s stubbornness get the best of her. “Fine. I’ll ride with you. You can take me back later tonight.”

“I can’t--” Quinn sighs, too irritated to even explain that she’s crossing multiple state lines with her cargo. “Yeah, okay. You can go back later tonight.” If anything, she’ll put Rachel on a bus in a couple hours. “But you have to agree to the following: We eat where I say we eat, we stop when I say we stop, and,” she can already see Rachel reaching for the console in the center of the dash, “you _don’t_ touch the radio.”

Rachel’s arms cross as she flings herself back against the seat. “And if I don’t agree?”

“I will pull over, right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Quinn wouldn’t. But she sips her coffee instead of saying anything else.

There’s silence in the cab for a while, until Rachel finds herself admiring the horizon. “The sunrise is pretty.”

That’s definitely a point Quinn can’t argue with her passenger. “Yeah. One of the perks of all this. A lot of sunrises and sunsets.”

Rachel wants to ask how Quinn ended up here, behind the wheel. But she’s aware that, right now, she’s just lucky that Quinn hasn’t left her on the side of the road to hitchhike in her bridesmaid dress. She manages to keep quiet for about an hour, mostly because she’s a little hungover and the desire to nap overrides the need to interrogate her driver.

For her part, Quinn enjoys the silence and tries to mentally plan where she can drop Rachel off during the day’s route. But first things first, even though she just picked up her haul, she’s already been driving for a few hours this morning and she needs some breakfast.

She pulls off the highway in Syracuse, choosing a familiar chain truck stop. This is too far north to be one of her usual routes across the States, but she’s learned that, of the major chains, they tend to all offer the same basic amenities.

“I’m stopping to eat. Do you want anything?”

Rachel’s headache is gone, but she doesn’t really feel much like eating. “No, thank you.”

Quinn doesn’t try to convince Rachel to join her, she just slips out of the truck and calls to JD. Once the dog jumps down, Quinn looks back up into the cab, calling out, “Stay here,” before slamming the door shut. JD takes her time, sniffing at everything in reach before finally settling on a spot to do her business.

Before heading into the short order diner, Quinn lets JD back into the truck. Rachel’s reclining back a bit in her seat, but she isn’t asleep because her eyes open when JD leaps inside.

“You’re sure you’re not hungry?” Quinn asks. “Because I won’t be stopping again until we’re close to Ohio.”

“I’m okay,” Rachel assures in a quiet voice, “My stomach needs a little more time to settle.”

Quinn nods and heads inside to order her plate of bacon and eggs. She doesn’t linger over her coffee, but she does head into the convenience store section of the truck stop to stock up on snacks. It’s always good to have something, in case there isn’t a good place to stop and eat next time she needs a break, and besides, she doesn’t trust Rachel saying she doesn’t need anything. She refuses to deal with Rachel realizing she’s hungry in an hour and begging to stop. A bag of pretzels seems like a safe choice, as do a couple of bananas, as well as a bag of chips or two for herself, later.

Once back at the truck, she lets JD down again to have some food and water, and does some stretches to prepare her body for the next leg of the journey. She tries to pretend, just for a moment, that she’s taking it alone.

Less than three minutes after they’re back on the interstate, Rachel’s already eyeing the bananas that can be seen through the thin plastic of the store bag.

“Yes, you can have one,” Quinn says, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” is the curt reply.

“I don’t want to be--”

“Rachel, just eat the damn banana.”

“...Thank you,” Rachel decides not to push the issue, and before too long, both bananas are gone.

On the one hand, Quinn feels validated about being right that Rachel would, in fact, need food, but on the other hand, she’s a little annoyed, because she had been thinking about eating one of those bananas later.

And while she’s relieved--for Rachel--that Rachel is feeling better, this also means that Rachel is feeling well enough to start talking. Maybe she should have left her feeling miserable.

“So, do you always drive alone?”

“I’m not alone. I have JD.”

“While she is clearly a wonderful companion, doesn’t it get lonely without anyone to talk to? Who can talk back, I mean.”

Quinn reaches up and clicks a switch on the CB radio above her head. A conversation plays out over the current channel and once there’s a pause, Quinn pulls the radio handset to her mouth and says, “Breaker one-nine, I’m heading westbound on 90 toward Nickel City. How’s it look?”

There’s a pop of static, then a crackly male voice. “This is Whiskey Pete. It’s clean and green coming eastbound. You got a name to pair up with that sweet voice? I don’t think I know you.”

Quinn shoots a sideways glance at Rachel, unsure if she’s ready to allow this glimpse of her current persona. But she’s working and this is all part of the job.

“It’s Prom Queen. I’m usually cruising a little further south.”

“Too bad we’re not heading the same direction.”

“Maybe next time. Thanks for the smokey report, good neighbor.”

Quinn hangs the handset back up. Before Rachel can even ask, she just says, “I didn’t pick the name.”

“I think it’s nice that there’s a sense of community.”

It’s her instinct to be annoyed, but Quinn also knows that Rachel is offering a genuine compliment. “I guess.”

Rachel sips her bottle of water and watches the scenery pass by. The sun is now well into the sky and everything whipping by their windows is a vibrant green with splashes of color. “So they keep you company, then? Your radio friends?”

“Sometimes.”

“If you want to talk to them, I don’t mind.”

“It’s not a damn chat room,” Quinn snaps back. She immediately feels a slight pang of guilt because Rachel recoils. “I just mean… I talk to them when I need to. And this isn’t my usual route.”

“Oh.”

Quinn knows that Rachel is either going to ask anyway or she’s just going to sit there and pout until the information comes out, so there’s really no choice about whether or not she wants to volunteer more information. It’s going to be pulled out of her, anyway. “I usually work out of Pittsburgh.”

“Is that where you live now?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t Noah--”

“Yes, he does.” Puck had been the one to give Quinn a head’s up on a small house for sale in the suburbs. He’d moved to the city a few years ago, because of the indie music scene. His primary income is currently his landscaping business, but as far as Quinn knows, he’s managed to book regular gigs that apparently provide plenty of groupies, given the photos on his Facebook page.

“Oh,” Rachel nods, “It’s nice to have some friends and support nearby.”

Quinn shrugs, but agrees, “Yeah, it is,” because he does check up on her house and take care of her plants when she’s on a long haul. They have an agreement: he can eat whatever’s in her fridge so that it doesn’t go bad, as long as he gets her mail and takes care of her plants and yard when she’s gone.

Just as Quinn starts to think maybe she wouldn’t mind talking a bit more, Rachel falls silent again. Perhaps Quinn was more short with her than she intended, because Rachel just watches the landscape out the window for the next several minutes, and there’s nothing but the low hum of staticky oldies coming through on the radio.

Almost twenty minutes later, Rachel says hesitantly, “Quinn…”

“Go ahead, you can ask,” Quinn answers immediately, even though she has no idea what might be on Rachel’s mind. She means it to sound apologetic, but her voice comes out harder than she expects. She sees Rachel shaking her head slightly in her peripheral vision. “What?” she asks again.

“I...need to use the facilities.”

Quinn exhales a long breath and grits, “Rachel. I just stopped like, half an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says sincerely, “I hadn’t quite taken stock of my body’s needs yet, but my need to relieve myself has become quite desperate. I mean, it’s been--”

Quinn holds up a hand, “That’s enough, thank you, and fine, I’ll pull over at the next stop.”

She watches as Rachel just crosses her legs, and the ridiculousness of this girl, this Broadway singer, recovering from a hangover in a bridesmaids dress in the passenger seat of her rig hits her again, and she almost laughs, but it really isn’t that funny to have a stowaway.

There’s another truck stop coming up, thankfully, because it’s not like Quinn can easily just pull into a McDonald’s or something. Once Quinn parks, she sees Rachel reaching for the door handle and she grabs her upper arm, “Wait a minute.”

“Quinn, I _really_ need to--”

“You’ve only realized you’ve had to go for less than twenty minutes. You can hold it. But first, you can’t go out there dressed like that.”

Rachel glances down at herself, as if she had forgotten what she was wearing. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just...not appropriate to wear around here. You don’t want to attract attention. Wait here, I have some spare clothes back here that I can give you.” She steps back toward her bunk and roots through one of her cabinets to find her spare clothes. She always tries to pack enough for a long haul, but you just never know.

The sweatpants and tank top she pulls out aren’t exactly flattering on anyone--which is part of why they’re just kept in the bunk as spares--but they should fit Rachel okay. As an afterthought, she also pulls an extra flannel from her duffel bag for Rachel’s arms. The day is still warming up, after all.

“Here,” she shoves them toward Rachel, “Just change here in the truck before we go in.”

“Okay,” Rachel grabs them and hastens back, pulling the curtain hurriedly closed behind her. Quinn sits back in the driver’s seat and crosses her arms.

A glance at the mirror she installed on her dash to keep an eye on any of JD’s misbehavior in the bunk reveals that Rachel has failed to close the curtain the whole way.

There’s a hazy moment in which Quinn thinks, _obviously_ she was too rushed to close it fully, but then Rachel turns slightly, and she’s adjusting her bra back into place, and Quinn’s eye is abruptly tracing the contours of the swell of Rachel Berry’s breast.

She snaps her eyes away and looks at JD, panting happily in Rachel’s--or well, usually JD’s--seat. Quinn claps her hands, and JD hops down to stand between the seats. “Sit,” Quinn orders. JD does. “Shake.” JD offers a paw.

“Aww, she knows tricks?” Rachel asks from behind her useless privacy barrier.

“Just change your clothes,” Quinn growls back, keeping her eyes on the dog.

The curtain is pushed back, and Rachel ducks through, tugging her sweatpants to keep them up as she does so. Quinn would laugh if she weren’t worried she was still blushing, especially because of the crowning touch: Rachel is still wearing her heels.

“ _This_ is more appropriate attire for going out in public?” Rachel asks skeptically.

“It’s a truck stop.” Though Rachel just stares blankly at her. “Just trust me. You’ll blend right in,” Quinn smirks, “Come on.”

“Gladly,” Rachel huffs dramatically, and they both climb down from the truck. Quinn orders JD to stay, and follows Rachel into the building. Despite her heels, Rachel hustles inside quickly to the ladies room and Quinn is left to look at the shelves of impulse buys while she waits for her passenger. She originally only planned to pick up coffee, but a shelf full of toiletry travel kits catches her eye and, even though it’s been years since they’ve been around each other, Quinn hasn’t forgotten about Rachel’s meticulous hygiene routines. She pays for the kit and the cup of coffee with her loyalty points card and catches Rachel just as she’s about to step out of the restroom.

“I thought you might want to brush your hair. And your teeth.”

Rachel’s hand immediately covers her mouth. “Is it that bad?” With the hangover and the waking up in an unexpected location, her entire sense of morning ritual has been disrupted. How could she have forgotten about brushing her own teeth? This is highly embarrassing for Rachel Berry.

“Just… hurry up.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Rachel finally emerges from the restroom, Quinn has to resist grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her back to the truck. She’s already off her schedule, but at least it’s only by about twenty minutes. If there’s no traffic, Quinn can easily make up for it.

Rachel’s quiet as they climb back into the rig and it’s so unsettling that she isn’t chatting about the weather or asking questions about JD’s pedigree that, once Quinn’s finally back on the highway, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Rachel has both legs tucked up on the seat as she watches the road in front of them.

"You're acting weird."

"I am?"

"You haven't said a word in at least ten minutes."

"Oh. I was just thinking."

"Ah." Quinn's content to leave it at that. There's no need to invite--

"I don't have any money."

"What?" Coming out of nowhere like this, Quinn needs a moment to process.

"I realized I don't have my purse. Or my phone, for that matter. I wanted to pay you back for the toothbrush kit and the bananas, but I left everything in Vermont." Honestly, she’s trying not to panic. She knows one of her friends _must_ have grabbed it for her, but the fact that she doesn’t have her phone to contact any of them exacerbates her anxiety.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to play stowaway in the back of my truck."

"I didn't expect to be transported hundreds of miles away and across state lines without my consent!"

"It was one state line and I didn't even know you were back there!"

"You should really be more thorough when you travel, Quinn. I could have been anyone. What if I'd been a hatchet murderer?"

"That's why I have JD."

"She didn't seem to mind the intrusion." Seriously, Rachel can’t imagine that cuddle fiend defending _anything_.

"That's because she knows you're harmless. Relatively, anyway." Quinn runs a hand through her hair, trying to think of a solution to Rachel's financial problem. "Look, I can buy you a bus ticket at my next major city stop."

"I can't--"

"It's fine. I can afford it. And it won’t kill you to ride a bus." She still has a decent amount of money in her trust fund and enough of a bank roll to cover any potential truck repairs.

"I'm trying to say that I don't think it would be wise to travel without any identification."

Quinn's eyes roll, but she knows Rachel's right. What if something happened to her? And she doesn't have her cell phone. "Then... we'll figure something out when we get to Ohio."

Rachel replies with a soft spoken, "Okay." It will have to do. The purse is fine, she trusts. She’s fine. She almost feels better.

Again, it’s too oddly quiet for a ride with Rachel Berry riding shotgun, so Quinn turns on the satellite radio that’s already tuned into an oldies station. They ride in silence for awhile, until a song comes on that inspires Rachel to start humming. A verse in, and Rachel is singing along softly. Quinn can’t decide if this is more or less distracting than silence. At least it’s less weird.

Just as they pass through Buffalo and begin the drive along the coast of Lake Erie, Quinn’s cell phone rings.

“Do you want me to…” Rachel looks around to where the sound is coming from, but Quinn waves her off. “Quinn. You shouldn’t be talking on a cell phone while operating a--” The glare Quinn shoots her is so icy, it’s practically glacial.

“Yeah. I know.” Quinn presses the preset button on her dash that activates the bluetooth system over the radio speakers. The GPS screen is also linked up to the same system and it shows that the caller is Puck. “Kind of busy with the road, right now. What’s up?”

“Hey, Quinn. I told everyone it was probably pointless to bother you but… uh… we can’t find Rachel. No one remembers seeing her after the reception last night and she was supposed to wake everyone up way too early for that damn brunch--”

“I put a lot of time into planning that reunion brunch, Noah Puckerman!”

“-- wait. Is that… Quinn, is she with you?”

“Yes,” Quinn deadpans. “She’s with me.”

“It’s cool, she’s with Quinn,” Puck says to whoever’s standing near him.

Santana’s muffled voice replies with, “Are they finally scissoring--”

Quinn’s quick to interject, “Tell Santana to shut up. And Rachel’s fine.” She glances over at Rachel. “Tell them you’re fine.”

Rachel leans toward the center of the cab, unsure where she’s supposed to direct her voice. “I’m fine.”

“Quinn’s not holding you hostage or anything?” Puck asks. "You can tell me."

"Goodbye, Puck." Quinn disconnects the call.

She rubs her hands on the steering wheel, hoping Rachel wasn’t really paying attention to what Santana was saying. She’s spent plenty of time trying not to think about Rachel like that. It was hard enough in high school when she wasn’t ready to admit that she was even remotely attracted to her. There was the constant reminder to herself that she just wanted to be friends, that Rachel represented escape from Lima and she motivated others to do the same. Without Rachel, Quinn’s convinced she never would have applied to Yale.

Without Rachel, Quinn probably would have ended up married to Finn or Puck or Sam, just because they were safe and she’d always be in charge of their lives and until Rachel Berry entered her life, that was how Quinn functioned. But Rachel has always forced Quinn to relinquish control right when Quinn thinks she has everything locked down: Beth’s paternity, junior prom, her accident… and now, Rachel’s invited herself on a cross-country haul.

Quinn has spent years trying to keep Rachel out of her head, since they lost touch in early college, only to have her sitting right next to her for god knows how many hours in a row.

“I’m sorry you’re missing your brunch,” Quinn offers, though it’s a little rushed and probably sounds insincere.

“Me, too,” Rachel says, her head propped up on the arm that rests against the window.

As much as Quinn has always enjoyed giving Rachel a hard time, and even though this whole situation is really Rachel’s fault, Quinn knows Rachel is probably just trying to keep herself together. “So… my route cuts right through Ohio. I’m not going as far south as Lima, but maybe your dads could pick you up in Cleveland? Or even like, outside Toledo?”

“They moved to New York two years ago.”

“Oh.” Quinn sighs. “And I guess everyone else we know is still in Vermont.”

Rachel nods. “Or New York.”

Right. Because Rachel has an entire life in New York City. One Quinn really doesn’t know much about beyond the photos Rachel posts on her Facebook or what Quinn can find on the Broadway gossip blogs. Not that she reads them. Not regularly.

That’s okay. Quinn’s always been good at problem solving. Usually.

“All right. Uh…” She taps her fingers on the wheel. “No one in Ohio can pick you up. Or… I mean, my mom still lives there…” But asking Judy to pick up her ‘kind of’ friend just so she can, what, house her for a few days while her purse arrives in the mail? They aren’t fifteen, anymore. Not that fifteen year old Quinn would have let Rachel set foot in her house. “But that’s… that’s not happening. I can’t turn around and take you back. You can’t travel without ID. Um, the best I can do is offer my PO box in Vegas. Maybe Puck can mail your purse and your phone so you can travel home from there.”

“You want me to ride with you all the way to Las Vegas?”

As soon as it’s stated so bluntly, it sounds like a terrible idea. “Or… I mean, if that’s too far, we can try to--”

Rachel’s suddenly invigorated with a fresh energy as she sits up in her seat. “This is perfect. I’ve always wanted to see the country.”

“Wait, I wasn’t really thinking that through.” Quinn isn’t sure she can handle Rachel for the multiple days it’s going to take for her to finish her haul.

“But it’s the best solution, really. I can’t travel without money or my ID. And this way we can catch up.”

Quinn’s mouth twists in frustration. “Oh boy.” But Rachel’s right. This is the best solution. And kind of the only one. “You can use my phone to text Puck. Tell him to send everything to my Vegas address. And text or call whoever you need to about work.” She assumes Rachel’s manager will probably be wondering where she is, at the very least. “But I’m serious when I say that I can’t just stop whenever you see the world’s biggest ball of yarn or something, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel’s already reaching for Quinn’s phone, but it’s passcode locked. Still, “There’s a text from Sant--”

“Do _not_ read it,” Quinn commands, then, hesitating only slightly, gives Rachel the passcode. It’s the same code it’s been since Quinn was sixteen. “2384.” At Rachel’s surprised look at the quick revelation of something as personal as a password, Quinn shrugs. “Just don’t snoop through anything.” She thinks about planting fake text messages just to see if Rachel actually manages to keep her nose out of Quinn’s business, but she can almost guarantee that whatever Santana just sent her is going to be a good enough test of Rachel’s willpower.

Once it’s arranged that Rachel’s belongings will be shipped to Nevada, Quinn has to wrap her mind around the fact that they’re now on a road trip together. Fortunately, Rachel’s just asked if she can play Candy Crush on Quinn’s phone and that leads into a solid hour and a half of near-silence.

The next scheduled stop is in Erie, PA, where Quinn has planned to have lunch and top off her tank.

“I’m going to fuel up first, then we can eat,” Quinn informs Rachel.

“Should I walk the dog?” Rachel asks.

Quinn should really be surprised at Rachel’s offer of helpfulness, but she’s just used to handling everything on her own. “Yeah, sure. Her leash is in the glove box.” She’s a little anxious about sending Rachel off by herself, but it’s the middle of the day and she’s going to have JD with her, so everything should be fine. That doesn’t stop Quinn from feeling anxious while she stands next to the diesel pump, waiting for the numbers to stop turning. But Rachel’s back in less than ten minutes with JD trotting right along next to her.

Once their seated in their booth at the Country Pride restaurant inside the truck stop, Rachel studies the menu. She hasn’t been a strict vegan since her move to New York, but she still tries to keep her dairy intake to a minimum. Judging from this menu, that’s going to be difficult.

“What do you normally get?” she asks Quinn, because she hasn’t even bothered to open the menu.

“Cheeseburger.” At Rachel’s grimace, she adds, “But with a salad instead of fries.”

“Hmm. How is the salad?”

“It’s as good as a pile of iceberg with maybe two cherry tomatoes on it can be.”

Another grimace. “Well. I guess it’ll be alright.”

The waitress makes her way over and Quinn orders her cheeseburger, but when it’s Rachel’s turn, Quinn continues to speak, "She’ll have the pancakes, um, butter on the side, a side of hashbrowns, and the small salad.”

“Dressing?” asks the waitress.

Quinn looks at Rachel, “Well?”

Rachel’s unsure if she should be grateful or mortified or angry at Quinn for ordering her food for her. But if anything, she’s hungry. “I...talian?” Once the server has moved away from their table, Rachel decides she’s, the the very least, irritated for being treated like a child. “I can order my own food.”

“Our next major stop is South Bend, which means it’s at least six and a half hours until dinner. I’m not about to have you order some three bite salad and decide you’re hungry as soon as we get back on the road.”

There’s the usual instinct to argue with Quinn, but Rachel also realizes that Quinn’s the one paying for the meal. “I suppose that’s considerate by your standards, so I guess I can’t be angry with you.”

“You can be angry all you want. I’m just not making any unnecessary stops.”

There’s a huff from Rachel as she struggles with whether or not she’s giving into Quinn when she’s frustrated by the entire conversation. Across the table, Quinn fights the smile that’s preceding the small laugh trying to surface. Rachel, with her hair freely falling over her shoulders and her flannel clad arms crossed over her chest, looks adorably riled. It’s a look Quinn hasn’t seen in person for years and it leaves her with a nostalgic sense of… longing, maybe? She doesn’t really want to think about it, but there it is. It reminds her unwillingly of high school, and the way Rachel’s jaw would set when faced with some perceived injustice or slight, the infuriating way she’d get so passionate and antagonistic that it would force Quinn to pay attention. That would force Quinn to push back.

But that was so long ago, they’re not even the same people anymore. Quinn looks away awkwardly and focuses on the little cardstock triangle listing desserts that sits on the edge on the table. Rachel only sulks for a few more minutes before, Quinn supposes, realizing she’s not getting much of a reaction. At least, not as far as she can tell.

The salads arrive first, sparing them a forced attempt to find something to talk about.

Though, it seems that Rachel can only take two more song rotations of canned music before she feels the need to hear her own voice. “May I ask why you’ve chosen a career in trucking?”

Quinn nearly chokes on her lemonade, because Rachel has this ridiculous way of sounding like a damn telemarketer. She swipes her napkin over her mouth before answering. “Because I’m the biggest thing on the road.”

It’s so simple, really. And it forces Rachel’s gaze downward, because she can’t seem to look Quinn in the eye. “Do you like it?”

“I’m my own boss, I don’t stay in one place very long, and I can listen to audio books all day. So, yeah. I like it.” The entrees arrive and, as Rachel pours syrup over the short stack, Quinn realizes something. “Pancakes aren’t vegan, are they? There’s eggs and milk and crap in them.”

She’s about to flag down the waitress, but Rachel reaches over and pulls Quinn’s hand down to the table. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I don’t want you to get sick or--”

“I’m not as strict about it as I used to be.” She pats Quinn’s hand as she releases it. “I promise. It’s okay. It’s very thoughtful of you, though. Thank you.”

Quinn gently picks up her burger and, just before she takes a bite, she asks, “Does that mean you want a side of bacon?”

Rachel’s immediate look of appalled disgust has Quinn giggling for at least the next five minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

As much as Quinn values the benefits of solitary truck driver life, she has to admit that it’s nice to have someone to talk to. After lunch, Rachel fills Quinn in on what it was like being part of the Anderson-Hummel wedding party, including a story of how Kurt made her try on no less than seventeen different bridesmaid dresses before approving the one she finally wore at the ceremony and is now rumpled as it hangs in the small closet behind the driver’s seat.

They cross the state line into Ohio and the topic turns to old high school memories, particularly those from the glee club. It’s a pleasant enough stroll down memory lane and Rachel’s missed this friendship, the one they finally pinned down during their senior year. Though, that reminds her of how her own actions ultimately landed Quinn in the hospital and then a wheelchair.

“Is it ever hard on your back?” Rachel finds herself asking. “All the driving in something this big?”

“It’s all power steering, so it’s not too bad.” But it’s almost as if the mere thought of it causes Quinn to fidget in her seat. “Sometimes I get stiff, but all that physical therapy really helped it heal correctly. And probably everything Sue did to us Cheerios.”

“Like injecting you with experimental drugs?”

Quinn laughs, although she’s not completely sure Rachel is joking. “No. Just the hardcore military style training. It was all about pushing through everything and not letting pain control you. I guess that still kind of gets me through things now.”

Rachel can understand that, at least on her own level. She’s always been about focus and carrying on. It’s what got her through high school, more or less.

They pass a sign for a route leading to Akron and that turns the conversation to Vocal Adrenaline’s most valuable players. Rachel sees Jesse at the occasional audition in New York, though she knows he’s still working regularly as a show choir consultant.

“Do you talk to Shelby at all?” Rachel asks, trying to sound casual.

“A couple times a year, maybe. She emails pictures of Beth on her birthday and Christmas. First day of school. Stuff like that.”

“Milestones,” Rachel muses.

“Sorry, is that weird to hear?” Quinn glances at her passenger.

Rachel shakes her head. “My dads have over a hundred scrapbooks, chronicling my life’s achievements. I didn’t miss out on anything.”

Quinn nods, “Right,” but the silence stretches awkwardly for a moment.

Until Rachel, seeming to fumble for a topic, asks, “How is your mother? What does she think about your choice of career?”

“Oh. She’s alright with it. It’s not what she would choose for me, and she worries, but she deals with it okay. She makes me call her every night I’m on the road, though.”

“That’s good. Clearly, you can’t rely on JD to be your only safety precaution.” Rachel reaches out a hand to pet the dog, who sits next to her seat in the hopes that she’ll vacate it.

“You’d be surprised,” Quinn says wryly, but Rachel just chuckles.

The silence they fall into is easier, now, so it’s not uncomfortable when Quinn turns up the radio a little, and Rachel returns to playing Candy Crush on Quinn’s phone. It’s weird to see Ohio as nothing more than road, nothing more than a throughway. It hasn’t been home for a very long time and honestly, Quinn’s old enough now that she doesn’t constantly think back on it. Maybe it’s because Rachel is in the truck, but odd memories are resurfacing. How early on in their relationship, Finn tried to impress her by offering to take her to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and, even though Quinn wanted to go, she had told him absolutely not because she wanted him to consider more typical dates in the future. He’d ended up taking Puck and she’d sulked for a weekend. How every summer, her dad used to take her and Frannie to Cedar Point, but that stopped just around the time Quinn finally got big enough to ride the really scary rollercoasters. How one time, Judy took them to the aquarium in Cincinnati, and a shark scared young Lucy so badly that they had to leave early, and Frannie didn’t forgive her for months. How once, when she was staying with Mercedes, they visited her grandparents in Columbus for the weekend, and as inviting and warm as her family was, Quinn spent the weekend eating everything in sight, feeling miserable and envious.

Quinn shakes her head. Maybe this is why she doesn’t like to drive through Ohio often, preferring routes that traverse to the south of her former home state.

Once she drags her thoughts out of the past, the drive is pleasant enough. They don’t hit traffic around Cleveland, thankfully, so the route is relatively smooth and music, the games on Quinn’s phone, and the occasional brief conversation keep them occupied enough for the remaining hours to pass quickly.

By the time they reach South Bend, Indiana, Quinn is exhausted and famished. It’s been a long day, considering how early she’d gotten up and how she’d had to drive four hours before even starting her haul. But she’d had to improvise, go to places she didn’t normally go to and pick up hauls she normally wouldn’t, in order to justify to herself why she could go to Vermont for the wedding.

“Let’s get some dinner and then we’ll check into the motel, okay?”

Rachel blinks a few times at that, perhaps clearing her head from being so absorbed in the game. “Oh! Yes, okay.” She hands Quinn back her phone.

Quinn eyes her, “You better not have beaten my high score,” she warns as she climbs out of the truck, clapping for JD to follow. They feed her and both take her for a walk together, because even with the dog by her side, Quinn feels protective of Rachel now that’s it’s getting dark.

Once JD’s back up in the big rig, they head into the diner Quinn has chosen. This time, she shuts up when it’s Rachel’s turn to order and the pleasant tone of the day carries over through the meal. As Quinn pays the bill, she can tell Rachel’s wary of the fact she doesn’t have anything to contribute.

“Look, you can buy me dinner in Vegas, okay?”

“That’s hardly equal, Quinn. I’d need to buy you at least half a dozen to make up for all this.”

“Well, it’s that or let you starve. And you’ll whine too much if you’re hungry, so I have to feed you.”

“Can I at least help in some way? With navigation or bookkeeping or something?”

“I already have a GPS and--” But Rachel’s expression is one of resolve and Quinn knows she has to figure something out. “Tomorrow I’ll show you how to fill out the logs, okay?”

Rachel nods. She needs to feel useful, especially around someone as organized and driven as Quinn.

There’s a Super 8 just across the parking lot from the diner and it has plenty of overnight truck parking. Quinn pays for a room and accompanies Rachel to make sure it’s as clean and air conditioned as the sign outside advertises. It’s fine. No frills, but it’s decent.

“I’m going to take a shower, then you can have the place to yourself,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom with her travel kit.

Rachel immediately folds down the comforter, absolutely terrified to sit on top of it because she’s seen that Dateline special about how filthy they are. The sheets look okay.

The deadbolt seems to lock all right and she also latches the chain before finally sitting on the bed with the television remote in her hand. The channels are basic, so she leaves it on the local news, which is currently relaying the latest weather report.

Quinn doesn’t take long in the shower, because she’s exhausted from the day’s worth of driving. She emerges in the same clothes she was wearing, but her hair is bound up in a towel. “All yours,” she tells Rachel, removing the towel to begin rubbing her hair dry.

At first, Rachel just nods, continuing to sit on the bed, and watches. When Quinn has finished drying her hair and reaches into the bathroom to hang the towel back up, Rachel cracks a smile, because Quinn’s short, choppy hair is a ruffled mess.

It’s almost cute.

Quinn doesn’t seem to notice and runs her hands through her hair absently, putting only a little effort into rearranging it. “I’ll be out in my truck,” she tells Rachel. “Sleep well. I’ll wake you in the morning in time for breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel agrees, though there’s a good chance she may be up first. When she’s not hungover, she’s usually up with the sun.

Quinn gives her a brief smile, gathers her travel kit, and leaves. Once in her truck, Quinn lies back on her bunk with a groan. It’s comfortable enough, though one of the beds in Rachel’s motel room would be more comfortable. But Quinn is happier out here, because at least _out here_ she has some privacy.

She makes sure to call her mom, then takes JD for a final pee, just to be sure, and the dog settles down in the passenger’s seat to start. Right now, Quinn needs the whole bunk to herself; she’ll cuddle with JD later. She strips off her clothes, but the night is too cool to sleep naked, so she pulls on a t-shirt and sweats.

There’s a plastic toolbox in the bottom of the bunk’s closet. Quinn hauls it up onto the bunk with her, then gets out her tablet.

She may be exhausted, but she’s never too exhausted for this. It’s also become such a crucial part of her routine to make sure she actually manages to get some quality sleep.

She opens up her ereader to _Best Lesbian Erotica 2020_ and settles into a story. It’s not bad, but, as in many other things, Quinn is picky about her porn. Most videos don’t do it for her; the women are so obviously fake. She doesn’t go much for overly-flowery language in her porn, but she also doesn’t like her language _too_ rough. She gives up halfway through the story and switches to a bookmark of one of her favorites, an erotic scene that never fails to get her hot.

She practically has it memorized, but just running her eyes over the words, just seeing them there, on her screen, produces an almost instant reaction. She slides a hand into her sweatpants and reads the scene a few more times, touching herself slowly, building the anticipation.

When she’s ready, she opens the toolbox, and rummages gently through the contents, which are not at all the standard wrenches and screwdrivers. This is a stash of items it’s taken her a few years to build. Right now, it’s the UWave vibrator she selects from among the other options in the chest. She kicks off her sweats and panties until they’re dangling from one ankle, then falls back, closing her eyes, and begins to move the vibrator against herself.

The scene from her favorite erotic story is playing her head, and she’s running through the lines and moments that make that scene work for her. ‘ _She likes having a good angle to really drive her tongue inside_.’ She moves her wrist, stroking her clit with the toy. ‘ _She moves her fingers rapidly, occasionally plunging in deep, or pausing to stroke and press inside_.’ Quinn’s breath is coming faster now, and her hips are rolling a little, moving with the vibrator, and she’s fervently imagining that the words and phrases she keeps repeating to herself are happening to her. ‘ _There is a tightening around her fingers at those words._ ’ She feels it beginning to build, low in her belly, a spreading warmth that makes every sensation more intense, that makes her mind start to feel cloudy, that makes her eyes roll back and she thinks, ‘ _she releases a strangled moan and she’s-_ -’

There a knocking sound, and for a moment Quinn is confused because she doesn’t _have_ a headboard to bang against the wall, and then there’s a “Quinn? Quinn?” and it’s almost too much, a melodic female voice, calling her name--

“ _Quinn?!_ ”

Quinn’s eyes snap open, the haze of potential orgasm abruptly gone, and she scrambles to shut off her vibrator, “Rachel?!” She shoves the toy under her pillow as she sits up.

“Quinn, please let me stay in here with you, I checked the sheets and the mattresses, and I don’t know, I think there might be bed bugs, there were these little black spots, and I’m not sure if bed bugs are red or black but I didn’t like it, and I went into the bathroom, and I swear when I turned the light off, I saw a red dot behind the mirror, just for a second, and I touched the mirror, and I think it’s one-way glass! There was a gap between my fingers on the mirror, and I can’t remember if that means one-way, but I think it does, and I _just don’t feel safe in there, Quinn!_ ”

While Rachel rambles, Quinn slams the toolbox shut, yanks her sweatpants back on, then throws the box back in the bottom of her closet. She _needs_ to hurry, what on earth is Rachel thinking, standing outside the truck and shouting like she is?!

She grabs a handful of the separation curtain and yanks it to the side as she flings herself over the front seat and shoves open the door. “Get _in_ ,” she hisses. Rachel climbs up gratefully, unsteadily, her eyes mournful.

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” Quinn answers curtly, trying to ignore the distracting throb of her clit. “I, um. I only have this bunk. You can sleep on it. I’ll sleep in one of the seats.” She pulls the door shut and immediately locks it.

“You will not!” Rachel sounds scandalized, “Quinn, you’ve been sitting all day, and sleeping like that cannot be good for your back! I’ll take one of the seats.”

“No way,” Quinn scowls, “You’ll attract attention, and I--” she cuts herself off before she admits she’s worried she won’t be able to protect her. “No. Fine. It’s okay. We can share the bunk. We’ve both shared it with JD, after all. There’s room.” Realizing the vibrator is still under the pillow, Quinn practically dives for the bunk, feigning an attempt to get comfortable while her hand gropes around for the U-shaped device. “There’s another pillow up there,” she says, jerking her head toward one of the cubby spaces above Rachel. As casually as possible, she drags the sex toy to the corner of the bunk and tucks it between the mattress and the wall.

Rachel places the spare pillow next to Quinn’s head and climbs onto the bed. The only way they’re going to fit is if they’re both facing the same direction. "Which way should we..."

"This way," Quinn settles on her side, facing the rear of the truck. Rachel shifts behind her, then settles. There's barely any space between them, but they aren't touching. Which is probably for the best, because Quinn's still really worked up from her attempt to jerk off and the last thing she needs is Rachel's anything on her anywhere.

Which is funny because it's Quinn who finds herself draped halfway over Rachel's body when she wakes up an hour later. JD's moved from the front seat to lie on the floor next to the bed and when she senses Quinn stirring, she lifts her head and whines.

"Oh, shut up."


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn wakes up groggy and grumpy, immediately aware that she spent most of the night waking up to move away from Rachel’s sleeping form. She didn’t sleep nearly as deeply as she usually does, either. Rachel snores, for one thing. Or maybe that had been JD?

She groans a little and mumbles, “Pass me my phone,” to Rachel, who should be closer to the device currently blaring Martha and the Vandellas as an alarm.

When there’s no response, Quinn’s hand prods the empty space next to her on the bunk and her eyes snap open. No Rachel. She kicks off the covers and grabs her phone, turning the alarm off while yanking the curtain aside. No JD, either.

“Shit,” she curses, running a hand through her unruly hair as she tries to collect her thoughts, but before she can do much else, she hears a sound against the door of her truck, and the door swings open. JD hops up, tail wagging, and Rachel struggles up into the cab, still in her heels, after the dog.

“Good morning!” Rachel chirps, “I took the liberty of walking JD. I figured she could probably use it.”

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Quinn snaps, kneeling to scratch JD’s ears, “You were too scared to sleep in a _motel room_ last night and now you’re wandering around its truck parking lot?!”

Rachel looks at Quinn for a moment and then explains, “Yes, Quinn, but it’s morning! There’s a beautiful sunrise! The birds are chirping, the dew is evaporating--”

“I understand what morning is,” Quinn interrupts, scowling, “What, are you scared of the dark or something?” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes for a moment.

Rachel falters for a moment, frowning, “No. Not the dark. It’s...you wouldn’t understand.” Quinn looks up at Rachel, an expectant eyebrow raised, and Rachel sighs and admits, “I’ve lived in New York for so long, it kind of terrifies me to be so alone. Like, to be in a place where no one can hear me scream.”

Quinn stares for a moment, sympathy thudding in her chest, but remembering the way Rachel...interrupted her last night stifles it. “Rachel. This is _not_ outer space. We are in the midwest, where you _grew up_.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Rachel grumbles, folding her arms and looking away.

Quinn sighs, and asks, “So are you okay to go into the room now? Because I really need you to do us both a favor and actually take a shower.”

Rachel wrinkles her nose and looks a little embarrassed, “I do really want to take one. I think I’ll be okay.”

Quinn tells JD to stay, and she and Rachel head back to the motel room. Quinn unlocks the door and glances through it. “Looks safe to me,” she tells Rachel, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Um,” Rachel starts, “Do I have to wear these clothes all the way to Las Vegas?”

“No,” Quinn mutters, “I’ll go get you some clothes. Can I leave you here to shower? Are you still going to worry about them filming you?”

“That’s a good point,” Rachel sounds alarmed again, “I really did think I saw a red light behind the mirror.”

Quinn walks up to the mirror and tugs. The mirror swings away, revealing an empty medicine cabinet behind it. She turns and raises an eyebrow at Rachel, who still stands with her arms folded and looks unconvinced, so Quinn sighs, closes the medicine cabinet, and picks up her towel from the night before to drape over the mirror. Rachel nods at this, seeming satisfied, “It’s better to be safe than sorry! I’m fairly certain nudes of me would spread rapidly.”

“Yeah,” Quinn mutters, “Listen, I’ll be back soon with some clothes. I’m going to lock you in here, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel agrees, and Quinn hurries back out to jog toward the truck stop across the parking lot where they’d had dinner the night before.

The clothing selection there is, as Quinn had anticipated, really awful. But trying to select from bad and worse articles of clothing gives her a sense of malicious glee. A lot of the clothes are designed for truckers, who certainly aren’t usually Rachel’s size, and it isn’t until she finds the kid’s rack of clothes that she thinks she’s found some shirts that will fit her. She selects a few: one with two wolves howling at the moon, another with a bald eagle diving across an American flag, trailing fire behind it, and a fluorescent pink one with the words “Trucker Princess” emblazoned on it in shiny silver letters. The only bottoms she finds that she thinks will fit Rachel are some booty shorts, so she grabs one, black with “Diva” written across the butt in baby pink letters, and another with “Bootylicious” on it, this one black lettering on pink. She also grabs a pair of purple flip flops with rhinestones on the straps, because one of these days, Rachel is going to twist an ankle climbing in and out of the truck in those heels.

She jogs back with her purchases, glancing at her phone as she does so. They need to get moving. She knocks on the motel door, then unlocks it and steps in. “Rachel?” she calls.

“I’m out of the shower!” Rachel answers through the bathroom door.

“I’m going to pass you some clothes,” Quinn tells her, and does so when Rachel cracks the door and a lean arm snakes through.

A few moments later, and Rachel asks, “ _Seriously_!?” in an exasperated tone.

“There wasn’t much of a selection,” Quinn reports, smirking.

“What about underwear?”

“Well, I really didn’t think the granny panties they had there would work with the shorts. And you are not allowed to borrow any from me.”

There’s a sigh, and then water running and some splashing. After about a minute, the water shuts off and Rachel calls, “Um. Quinn? Do you have a hairdryer?”

“We do _not_ have time to style hair today! I really need to get on the road, Rachel!”

Rachel emerges, wearing the Diva shorts, the Trucker Princess shirt and the flip flops, Quinn’s clothes rolled into a ball under one arm, and a dripping set of hand-washed bra and panties clutched in her other hand. “I just need to dry my underwear!” she protests.

“You’ll have to hang them in the truck. I don’t even own a hairdryer,” Quinn tells her roughly. “Now come on. Are you ready?”

Rachel surveys the room, not that there’s anything to forget. She picks up the notepad and pen that sit by the telephone and decides they’re coming with her, because Quinn needs to at least gain something out of the money she spent.

A few minutes later, JD is fed, Quinn has changed clothes behind the curtain in the truck, and Rachel’s black bra and panty set are hanging over the curtain rod to dry. Rachel’s scowling, and has also put back on the sweatpants and the flannel shirt she was wearing the day before, because the morning is still a bit chilly.

“We’re going to have to grab breakfast to go,” Quinn gripes, as she hustles Rachel across the parking lot to the truck stop.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel answers sincerely.

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn tries to sooth, but it comes out gruff, “I should have anticipated this when I set my alarm. It’ll be okay.”

Once they’re armed with a breakfast sandwich for Quinn, a cup of yogurt and granola for Rachel, three bananas, and two cups of coffee for them both, Quinn waves Rachel up into the cab of the truck.

“I just need to do my walk-around, then we’re leaving.”

The door shuts before Rachel can even ask what that entails, so she settles the hot coffee in the cupholders and takes care to keep JD from sniffing the bacon and egg biscuit that she’s placed on the dash.

Rachel’s been wanting to take a vacation, a break from city life, for a while now. She didn’t think it would be from the elevated seat of a semi with Quinn behind the wheel. “This is all certainly going to make for an interesting chapter in my memoir,” she says to JD. “Stop trying to eat Quinn’s bacon. She’s already grumpy enough as it is.”

JD huffs because she’s shooed away and she turns to hop up on the bunk, then lies down, head resting on her outstretched paws.

In the side mirror, Rachel can see Quinn inspecting her truck until she disappears around the back. Rachel uncaps the motel pen and squiggles a design in the upper corner on the notepad until she’s convinced that the ink output is satisfactory. Then she begins to write a list:

**_2 bananas_ **   
**_1 mid-day meal (pancakes, hash browns, salad)_ **   
**_1 travel kit (toothbrush, toothpaste, small hairbrush, 5 q-tips, 2 cotton balls, 1 moist towelette)_ **   
**_1 diner dinner (grilled cheese sandwich, fries, salad)_ **   
**_1 night in a motel room_ **   
**_3 t-shirts_ **   
**_2 pairs booty shorts_ **   
**_1 pair Bedazzled flip flops_ **   
**_1 yogurt and granola cup_ **

At the sound of the driver’s side door, Rachel shoves the pad and pen down in the pocket of the passenger door. She picks up her yogurt cup and pries off the lid. The blueberries don’t look entirely fresh, but it was the best Quinn could do with their limited schedule and lack of variety.

Quinn, actually, has been rather considerate, given everything. Rachel feels safe, at least from relative harm. Though she does have a bruise on her shin from where Quinn kicked her in her sleep.

“Ready?” Quinn asks.

Rachel nods, though it’s JD’s bark that seems to be the answer Quinn is expecting.

They don’t really talk much, because Quinn’s trying to eat her breakfast sandwich and Rachel’s working on her yogurt. When Quinn passes the last bit of bacon to JD, Rachel can swear the dog smirks at her.

The morning sun is still new enough that the sky has a tint to it and Rachel wishes she had her phone, or at least a camera, to capture what she’s seeing on this road trip. But maybe the whole idea is for her to remember it, to use it down the line. She fishes the motel notepad out of the door pocket and flips to the second page so she can write down her thoughts on this moment, because she definitely doesn’t want to forget.

She makes it two lines in before she laughs at herself. Quinn’s right. She grew up out here. She lived her entire life in the midwest and never bothered to write a single journal entry about the sunrise (or sunset, for that matter) and now she’s concerned with capturing one for posterity. Life in New York has definitely made her view things differently.

As they move across another state line, Rachel watches the sign for Chicago pass by and once they hit the city limits, Quinn is muttering to herself about the traffic.

“Oh come on!” she shouts at an SUV that cuts over in front of her. “Idiot.”

“Is he even allowed in this lane?” Rachel asks.

“This asshole doesn’t care,” Quinn snaps back.

Rachel wants to play more Candy Crush, but she doesn’t really think it’s a good idea to ask Quinn for her phone while she’s glaring at anything that crosses her path. Instead, she returns her attention to the notepad and jots down some ideas for lyrics. She’s been wanting to record her own songs, but the last time she brought up the idea to her manager, he just told her to focus on the stage because it was her strength. That hasn’t stopped her from writing her own songs. Maybe Quinn would work on something with her. Maybe she’ll revisit that idea when Quinn isn’t leaning on the horn and threatening people.

Once they emerge, unscathed, from all the rush-hour traffic, Quinn calms down and actually laughs when Rachel’s stomach growls loudly enough for her to hear it across the cab.

“It’ll be a couple more hours until we stop for lunch, but I have those chips from yesterday if you want to open them up.” She jerks her head back toward the rear of the truck and Rachel finds the bag containing the chips behind her seat.

Quickly, Rachel pulls the bag open and dumps a few into a napkin, before resting the bag between the seats so Quinn can reach them. By the time Quinn actually dips her hand down to grab some, Rachel’s already consumed two napkins full.

“Did you… Rachel, you already ate more than half the bag!”

“They taste really good and I was hungrier than I thought!”

“Okay, but do you know how impossible it is to find those crab chips outside of the Mid-Atlantic?”

“I didn’t realize they were difficult to-- Did you say ‘crab’?”

“Yes. I said crab. Look at the bag.”

But Rachel’s already holding it in her hands and staring at the little red cartoon creature printed on the foil package. “These are…” She suddenly feels ill.

Quinn scoffs. “You didn’t read it before you inhaled the whole bag?”

“I didn’t think… oh god, I’m going to be sick.” She’s already breathing faster. Salivating. Sweating.

“You’re not…” Quinn spares a glance from the road to look over at her passenger. The second she sees the look on Rachel’s face she feels immediate regret for making a big deal out of things. “Rachel. Hey, listen. They’re not made out of crabs, okay?”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“No, you’re not,” Quinn says, firmly.

“I am. I ate crab.”

“They’re made of damn potatoes and Old Bay!”

Rachel turns white. “Was Old Bay the crab’s name?”

“It’s a seasoning!”

Through her misery, Rachel manages to hold the chip bag steady enough to read the ingredients. It turns out that Quinn is, in fact, telling the truth. It still takes several minutes for Rachel’s stomach to settle.

While Rachel delicately sips on a bottle of water, Quinn turns on the radio, letting oldies fill the space. As Rachel rests her head against the glass of the passenger window, she wonders why Quinn seems to prefer this style of music. When they were younger, it suited her persona. Quinn had a demure, vintage air about her and a wardrobe to match. Not that she doesn’t embody those qualities now, but it’s different. Still classic, but less reserved.

The truck maybe make a big difference, too.

The current song ends and there’s a lag in the satellite radio before the next one begins, but in the silence, there’s an odd buzzing sound. Quinn hears it too and she dials down the volume to listen.

“What is that?” she asks, glancing at Rachel, then at the lights on her dash. Nothing is lit up or flashing that shouldn’t be.

If anything, Rachel was sure Quinn would know what it was, because this is her truck and she’s probably trained to know what every single sound could mean.

“I don’t know. It’s…” Rachel leans forward but it isn’t coming from in front of her. She turns around and it’s louder. “I think it’s something in the back.” Not only is it buzzing, it’s almost a pulsing sound. She undoes her seat belt and moves deeper into the back.

“Rachel, will you…” Quinn releases a frustrated sigh. “Be careful.”

“I’m just trying to find the--” The sound is coming from the bunk. Specifically, it’s coming from where JD is lying on it. Because whatever’s making the noise is currently in her mouth while she chews on it. “Here it is. It’s JD’s… um… chew toy.”

“JD doesn’t have a chew toy that-- Oh, fuck.”

“What? Is it bad for her? Hold on, I’ll get it.” Rachel moves to coax the dog into giving up her current prize.

“It’s… you don’t have to… shit… um, she can…” It’s a struggle because Quinn obviously wants to intervene, but she’s currently busy with this whole business of operating a massive moving vehicle.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Rachel says, slipping back into her seat, the now-silenced chewed toy grasped between two fingers.

She holds it there, just out in front of her, for a moment and then Quinn blurts out, “It’s to massage her gums, okay? It’s a dog… gum… massage… tool. For healthy gums. And teeth.”

“Quinn,” Rachel coolly replies, delicately placing the object in the chip bag. “I know what a vibrator looks like.” It makes sense, really, Quinn all alone on the highway, needing some physical stimulation. “Cassie had this same model.”

“Who the hell is Cassie?” Quinn spits, through her own obvious embarrassment.

“My dance teacher-slash-lover from NYADA.” Rachel searches for another napkin and wipes off her fingers.

Quinn’s fingers tighten around the wheel. “What?”

“What, are you surprised to learn that I’d taken a female lover?”

“What? No! But your teacher? That’s… gross and unethical.”

“Excuse me, she wasn’t my instructor by the time we were intimate with each other. And anyway, even if she had been, I don’t think you’re one to criticize me about my choices.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Santana told me you were involved with one of your professors at Yale.”

“Wait, she told you--” Quinn groans, frustrated. “I didn’t… I told her that because I was trying to get into her pants and she always needs to feel like she’s beating someone else out if you want her to actually do something. And even then, it still took two months to get her to sleep with me.”

Rachel’s full body turns to face Quinn. “You _slept with Santana_?”

“What,” Quinn replies, “surprised to learn that I’d taken a female lover?”


	6. Chapter 6

They’ve stopped somewhere in Wisconsin for lunch. Even though Rachel offered to take JD on her walk, Quinn insisted that she would do it herself, leaving Rachel in the truck. Rachel figures Quinn needs a few minutes to herself after the vibrator debacle and the brief conversation about sexual partners.

After dropping that bomb about Santana, Quinn had busied herself with the CB radio and Rachel wasn’t able to ask questions. Now Quinn’s outside and Rachel’s waiting for her. Shortly, though, they’ll be sitting across from each other inside the diner and then Rachel will have the opportunity to ask whatever she wants. Does she want to know, though? It is kind of private. But it’s also _Quinn and Santana._

While she waits, Rachel reflects on the last day and a half and how it’s been something of a reunion but also a crash course in getting to know more about Quinn. Quinn’s always fascinated her, because she’s so often closed off to everyone else. They’ve had their moments together, years ago, when Rachel was the one who got to see a side of Quinn that other people didn’t.

She wonders if Quinn’s ever let Noah ride along with her. Even if she has, it’s obvious that she prefers to ride alone. There’s a clear sense of independence about the way she pilots her big rig, but it’s also shrouded in that air of solitude that Quinn’s always carried with her. Like she thinks she’s supposed to be doing things alone, to prove that she can take care of herself.

It must be lonely. But Quinn has also found healthy ways to cope with--

Rachel’s palm covers her face as she makes a realization. There was a reason why Quinn wanted to sleep alone last night. Suddenly, Rachel sees past her own, mostly irrational, fears about sleeping by herself in that motel room, and she realizes that Quinn was, very likely, taking advantage of the only time she had to herself. And someone as careful as Quinn Fabray, someone so calculated, would not leave a sex toy valued at over a hundred dollars out somewhere her dog might find it and mistake it as something to gnaw on.

At least she knows _why_ Quinn was so cranky in the morning.

She hears JD’s bark from outside the cab and before the door opens, Rachel takes quick care to add **1 high end vibrator** to her list.

“Let’s go, princess,” Quinn says, as the dog hops into the truck.

Rachel looks down at the glittery logo on her shirt and pouts before joining Quinn in the parking lot. She wants to ask about Santana. She wants to know why her former roommate never mentioned it, because they talked about everything, because they used to be close.

“When did it happen?” Rachel asks. She knows this is probably likely to blow up in her face, but the curiosity is gnawing away at her.

“What?”

“You and S--”

But Quinn already knows exactly what Rachel wants to know. “At Schuester’s wedding. Or… not-wedding.” Before Rachel has a chance to process what that means, Quinn shoots back with, “When did you start sleeping with your teacher?” She pulls open the door to the restaurant and holds it so Rachel can pass through.

“Sophomore year of college.” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and follows Quinn to a table in the back. The waitress passes them each their menus and, for a moment, there’s calm between them. Until Rachel’s menu drops down and she says, “But Santana didn’t come on to you. You were pursuing her. Why?”

“Why’d you start falling into bed with your dance teacher? I know your GPA was probably fine without you needing to rely on your interpersonal skills.”

“I told you, she wasn’t my instructor at the time!” Rachel’s menu shoots back to its upright position. “I liked her.”

Quinn remembers the Facebook posts from Rachel’s first year at NYADA. “Wasn’t she really mean to you?” It’s not as pointed as the previous few questions.

“At first.” Rachel can’t help but roll her eyes, because definitely Quinn has her own history with cruelty. “But it was to make me a better performer.”

“In bed, apparently.”

“Oh please, Quinn. Santana was absolutely unsupportive of you during your entire teen pregnancy, she assaulted you at school, and intentionally ran against you for Junior Prom Queen.” Rachel places her menu down on the table. “And you had no problem sleeping with her.”

Quinn shrugs, not even appearing defensive. “I know how to handle Santana. When she tried to get the better of me, I put her on the bottom.”

Rachel covers her ears and hisses, “Quinn! I really don’t need to hear the details of your intimacy with--”

“ _Rachel_ ,” Quinn interrupts, lowering her menu to meet Rachel’s eyes, “I meant the bottom of the _pyramid_. We were _cheerleaders_ , remember?!”

“How could I forget,” Rachel returns hollowly, and feels herself blushing at the erroneous conclusion she had jumped to. Quinn returns to perusing the menu, though her eyes are darting randomly, and she clearly isn’t really studying it, so Rachel asks more blatantly, “Why did you seduce Santana?”

Quinn doesn’t even look up, “She was a safe choice.”

“Safe?” Rachel asks skeptically, “I would be afraid she’d...slap me in the middle of the act or something.”

Quinn snorts, “Not...physically safe, although, like I said, I know how to handle her. But safe with secrets. Clearly, I was right, because she spread all my _other_ shit to you, but never told you about her and I.”

“Yeah! How dare she?” Rachel is abruptly indignant. She and Santana were good friends once, after all.

Quinn is unperturbed, “It was a long time ago. I’m surprised she did actually keep it a secret all this time. I can’t believe she told you the bullshit about my professor but not about us.”

“It’s just…” Rachel fumes a little, an unexpected wave of bitterness at Santana creeping up on her. “I don’t know. I find it hard to understand why you would trust someone who...who slept with our mutual ex-boyfriend to get back at us.” Rachel tries to ignore the fact that she’s trusted Santana with a secret or two of her own.

“That didn’t really bother me,” Quinn raises an eyebrow as she looks at Rachel over her menu, “And it can’t still bother you. We were very young, and you and I have both been over Finn for a long time.”

Rachel looks away. It’s true. Finn losing his virginity to Santana had been a non-issue even during junior year, when she had been trying to win him back. She just...wanted to commiserate about all of Santana’s wrongs for a moment, and that’s really not right or fair. She guesses she just feels so blindsided by this news and hurt that neither of them ever confided in her before now.

The waitress returns, and Rachel’s not really ready, but it isn’t as though she has a lot of options. She goes with another grilled cheese and salad, and Quinn gets a cheeseburger. Now that there are no menus separating them, Quinn seems to regain a sense of confrontational energy and asks, “So. You got a crush on your mean dance teacher who was only pushing you to be better. How exactly did you seduce her?”

“It wasn’t _difficult_ ,” Rachel scoffs. Quinn looks mildly surprised and Rachel clarifies, “She was interested in me, too. That’s why she was so invested in making me a better performer.”

“So she was grooming you?” Quinn scowls.

“No,” Rachel negates, “There was no ‘grooming.’ Only mutual interest and a degree of antagonism that was allowed to blossom once I was no longer her pupil.”

“ _That’s_ normal,” Quinn sounds bitter.

“It happens,” Rachel shrugs, “At least we were ethical about it. One of the ways I realized I was interested in her was when I found out my freshman year boyfriend had slept with her while he was her student. I mean, it was a little more complicated than that, but…”

“The male prostitute?” Quinn asks.

Rachel throws up her hands, “What else did Santana tell you?!”

Quinn shrugs, “Nothing much else, really. She picks the worst secrets to spill, doesn’t she?”

“Clearly.” Though Rachel’s relieved that her pregnancy scare never made it to Quinn’s ears. “I guess maybe she didn’t know about my relationship with Cassie. That was after she and I stopped living together. And it was fine. It was a good learning experience, both sexually and in terms of relationships. I learned that some people are just messes and you can’t fix them.”

“Hrm.” Quinn doesn’t say anything else for awhile, and instead extracts her phone and begins to pay a lot of attention to whatever she’s doing on it. With nothing better to do, Rachel reads the dessert menu on the table over and over until their food arrives.

After lunch, while Quinn pays the cashier, Rachel busies herself looking at the rack of paperbacks next to the counter. She doesn’t read as much as she used to and she feels like maybe right now would be a great time to disappear into a book.

“Looking for something in particular?” Quinn’s voice is right in Rachel’s ear and it startles her, just enough to make her shiver.

“Kurt was going on and on about some recent novel he’d read…” Rachel taps a specific cover at the end of the rack. “I think it was this one.” Though it’s not like she has money to spend on any New York Times best sellers.

“I have it on my iPad,” Quinn offers. “If you wanted to read it.” It’s both a peace offering and insurance that Rachel will keep her mouth shut for the remaining five hours to Minneapolis.

And it works, mostly. When they get back to the truck, Quinn gets her iPad and, instead of handing it to Rachel, begins to open the app herself.

“I know how to use an iPad,” Rachel offers.

Quinn just glances up at her with a challenging eyebrow raised, and doesn’t hand over the iPad until the book Rachel mentioned is open in the Kindle app. She then pointedly passes it to Rachel, and Rachel gets the hint: _don’t go looking through anything else_.

For her part, Quinn just drives. She has the radio playing music for most of it, uses the CB radio for some of it, but only a little, because she doesn’t want to distract Rachel from her reading. She feels a little bit bad, actually. She knows she hasn’t been the most pleasant person to be around today, and in spite of the fact that Rachel has been relatively flexible about the whole thing, she also knows how weird and inconvenient it must be for Rachel to join her on this cross-country haul. And although Quinn is paying for everything, she can’t help but feel a little bit bad that Rachel has ended up in her castoffs and truck stop clothes, and that they’ve basically just eaten diner food, that Rachel doesn’t even have anything to do and she doesn’t even have her phone…

Which brings to mind another thing. When Quinn finally checked her phone and got Santana’s text message at lunch today (which, predictably, had only said, _Really? The only way you can get laid now is to kidnap hobbits?_ and didn’t warrant a response), she had checked, out of curiosity, to see who Rachel had texted, and what Puck had said when she had texted him. Puck had checked to make sure she was actually okay, which Rachel assured him she was, and had agreed to mail her purse to Las Vegas, but they hadn’t said anything else to each other. The only other person Rachel had texted was her Daddy, merely telling him she had taken a spontaneous road trip with Quinn and was taking some time off, that she didn’t have her phone but if there was an emergency he could reach her on Quinn’s number, but otherwise not to worry and not to blow up Quinn’s personal phone. As far as Quinn could tell, her father had respected this because the only reply was a request for her to be safe and be in touch when she got her phone back.

But Rachel hadn’t texted anyone else. Unless, of course, she’d deleted those messages. But why would she leave her text to her father but not any others? Surely, her manager or agent or someone must be wanting to know where she’s gone off to.

And all of that combined with making Rachel panic about eating crab, and snapping at her about sleeping with her (former) dance teacher, is enough to make her feel kind of bad for accidentally kidnapping Rachel.

Once they make it to Minneapolis, Quinn navigates through the rush hour traffic to her drop off point. When she notices Rachel is paying attention to where they are going instead of to the iPad, Quinn explains, “I have a drop off here tonight, and then we’re getting up early tomorrow for a pick up in Des Moines. Ideally I’d like a pick-up and drop off that are closer, but this isn’t my normal route or any of my more regular hauls.” She shrugs.

Rachel just nods, and Quinn concentrates back on the traffic.

It’s after seven by the time Quinn pulls out of the warehouse where she’s made her delivery drop. Rachel knows it’s not likely, but she thinks the truck feels lighter as they drive down the road without a haul behind them.

“Hungry?” Quinn asks.

“Yes,” is Rachel’s reply. She’s already thinking about what she can do to change up her regular grilled cheese order to keep it interesting. Maybe added tomato and onion.

But when Quinn turns into a parking lot, it’s not for one of their regular truck stop diners. It’s a restaurant with the name Gino’s up on the neon sign. From the look of the place, it’s probably on par with Breadstix, so it’s not fine dining but it’s also not going to have a five dollar special or allow Quinn to pay with her trucker points.

“I just thought they might have more options,” Quinn says. “Diner food can get old after a while.”

Rachel’s been part of the routine enough now to know that Quinn needs JD’s leash from the glove box, so she’s already digging it out when Quinn reaches over for it. “That’s very considerate of you.” She’s pretty sure Quinn has a handle on working her way around those short order menus, so this stop feels like it might be for her benefit.

For a moment, they’re both holding the leash and Quinn feels like she could say something about how it’s been a long day and that she feels badly about tormenting Rachel, but JD butts her head against Quinn’s arm and the casual stillness is broken. Quinn takes the leash and they give JD a short walk together, saying little, because they’re both hungry.

Inside, Quinn looks over the menu and smiles. There are a few more vegetarian options. Rachel seems pleased; she’s scanning the menu with bright eyes. It has a nice atmosphere inside, the kind of place that promises good food, but that no one is going to look at them funny for Quinn’s flannel or Rachel’s sparkly t-shirt. Quinn gets chicken alfredo and Rachel beams as she orders the pesto primavera. Quinn feels validated.

It’s actually nice to be out to dinner with an old friend and Quinn realizes she hasn’t really heard Rachel talk much about her own life, maybe because Quinn’s been so focused on the road or maybe because she just hasn’t been aware enough to ask Rachel anything specific. She feels a little bad about that.

“So, are you working on any shows, right now?” Quinn assumes the answer is probably no, because Rachel’s just taken a week-long hiatus, but maybe she had vacation days lined up or something. She isn’t exactly sure how the Broadway system works.

Rachel shakes her head. “Not since I finished my run in Ghostbusters.”

“I’m really upset that I missed that, actually. Puck said you were hysterical.”

There’s a smile, one Quinn remembers from their years in glee club, the one that Rachel flashes when someone compliments her work and she knows she was amazing but she also somehow finds the compliment unexpected. “It was fun. I had originally auditioned for the role of Dana, but getting Janine turned out to be great chance to work on my comedic timing.”

“That was the Annie Potts role in the movie, right?” Quinn asks, trying to recall whatever she can about the film.

Rachel nods. “It was better anyway, because Anne really made Dana her own, you know?”

Quinn laughs as she sips her water. “Because you and Anne Hathaway are on a first name basis.” It’s not a question, just a musing. Rachel’s working on Broadway and she knows celebrities. “That’s really cool.”

“Yeah,” Rachel replies, but there’s an emptiness to it.

Quinn reflects on what else she heard from Puck about the show. He’d gone to see it at least twice, partly because he wanted to support Rachel and partly because he’d hoped Rachel would introduce him to Anne Hathaway.

“I thought that show closed sometime last year, though.” It’s more of a thought aloud than a direct question.

“It did.”

There’s a lull and Quinn waits, because it wouldn’t be unlike Rachel to demand a dramatic pause before unveiling some outrageously fantastic news, but when she just reaches over and adjusts the olive oil and balsamic vinegar holder, it’s apparent there’s nothing to follow.

“Are you workshopping anything?”

“Not right now.” Her arms are folded now.

“But you’re still singing, right?” Quinn knows she’s seen videos in Facebook of Rachel doing small venue cabaret performances.

“Yeah.”

“Are you writing more songs?” It’s a dangerous question, because there’s a chance Quinn’s about to be subjected to an hour’s worth of numbers about taxi rides, pigeons stealing french fries, and whatever else Rachel might deem song worthy.

But it’s only met with, “Sometimes.”

Quinn cannot recall a time in history when it’s been this difficult to get Rachel to talk about her own endeavors and achievements. Then again, Quinn hasn’t been the nicest person over the last couple of days. It’d be enough to make anyone defensive. She changes topics. “JD seems to like you.”

That draws a genuine smile out of Rachel. “She’s very sweet. My dads never let me have a dog, but I’ve always loved animals.”

“Is that why you wore them on your sweaters?”

“At least I didn’t dress like a Young Republican.”

That earns Rachel a Splenda packet flung in her general direction. When she laughs, Quinn figures they’re at least okay.

After dinner, as the second part of Quinn’s peace offering, she pulls into a Holiday Inn Express for the night.

“Sometimes, I just need to sleep on a decent mattress,” she explains to Rachel, “I always plan to spend a few nights in on my hauls. That mattress isn’t great on my back if I use it every night.” She hooks a thumb back toward her bunk.

And it is true. Every few nights, she does get a hotel or a motel when she’s on the road. She usually goes for something even more simple than this, though, and her back isn’t desperate for a hotel mattress tonight. But it’s okay. She and Rachel could use a night in a place they’ll both be comfortable.

Quinn checks them into a room with two double beds and once Rachel sees that it’s clean, that the remote to the television isn’t chained down, and that the mini-fridge isn’t housing a severed head, they both visibly relax. Though, Quinn’s pretty sure she sees Rachel press her fingertip up against the mirror in the entryway, just in case.

Television isn’t something Quinn keeps up with, at all, but the flat screen is large and inviting, and she’s quickly pulled into a bad romantic comedy on HBO. It’s ridiculous, but it’s entertaining, and she could really use some mindless entertainment. Rachel watches with for her a while, then excuses herself to the bathroom to take a shower. For an entire twenty minutes, Quinn is blissfully alone in the room and it’s not until she hears the water shut off that Quinn realizes she just missed a prime opportunity to take care of her more primal needs.

That’s okay. She needs to shower, too, and she plans to be plenty alone for a good half an hour.

Masturbating in the shower isn’t a regular occurrence for her, but it’ll do. She sets her iPhone on the bathroom counter and turns on one of her chillout Spotify playlists. The water warms up while Quinn sheds her clothing, dropping each item on the floor, almost giddy with the anticipation that she’s about to get some release. Rachel really has her more tense than usual.

Once she’s under the hot water, Quinn just allows the spray to wash away the stress of the day, the last two days, if she’s really thinking about it. She takes care of her regular routine, first. It’s when she’s rinsing the shampoo out of her hair that the water first fluctuates, the pressure dropping significantly, then blasting back to full. It happens again during the conditioning round and by the time she’s trying the shed all the soap suds from her body, it’s time number three. Additionally, the temperature isn’t constant. She finds herself repeatedly fiddling with the knob, keeping it from being too hot or too cold. But then it balances out and she waits a moment before letting her hand fall between her legs, applying gentle strokes… until the water hitting her back drops at least twenty degrees, then increases to what feels like it’s nearly scalding.

“Are you fucking serious?” she mutters. There’s no way this is going to work. She almost feels like crying, but then that would be idiotic. Who cries just because it’s not convenient for them to masturbate?

She cranks the water off and grabs the nearest towel, cursing the inconsistent water with every swipe against her skin before yanking on her pajamas.

When she emerges from the bathroom, Rachel looks up at her from the iPad. “Everything okay?”

Quinn grumbles and doesn’t offer much of a reply as she crawls between the sheets of her bed and pulls the blanket up over her head. After a few minutes, she hears Rachel move around the room. There’s the sound of the deadbolt and extra lock being checked, then the click of the switch on the lamp as the room darkens.

“Goodnight, Quinn,” is the quiet offering from the other bed.

Quinn can’t ignore it. She’s frustrated, but she’s not angry at anyone but herself. And whoever designed the plumbing of this Holiday Inn Express. “Night, Rachel.”

She lies there for a while, the white noise of the air conditioning unit lulling her into relaxation. Quinn thinks she could probably fall asleep pretty easily, but as she listens to the room, she’s pretty sure she can hear the steady rhythm of Rachel’s breathing. It’s deep and slow, the way it should be when someone’s sound asleep. She tries to remember what it sounded like last night, in the truck, but she really wasn’t paying attention.

“Rachel?” she whispers. No response.

Quinn watches the red lights of the clock count off at least three more minutes and then she figures it’s safe to test the waters, to see if maybe she can catch a break and just do what she needs to do. Her hand slips beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, then into her underwear. When her fingers brush over her clit, she’s conscious of the fact that she has to be quiet, that this is a stealth operation. So, she’s careful to internalize. She can to this silently, just like she learned to do in college.

The difference, though, between this Holiday Inn and her dorm room, is that Yale apparently invested a little more in their bed frames. Because this one squeaks. With each movement of her arm, there’s a small creak of the frame. It’s not too loud and it’s probably covered by the sound of the air cond--

“Quinn?” With the exception of the A/C, the entire room is still. “Quinn are you okay? It sounds like you’re restless.”

“I’m fine.”

Silence. Then, “If you… need some privacy, I can wait in the bathroom.”

“Ohmygod,” Quinn groans against the hand that’s palming her face. Not only has she been interrupted, but Rachel knows _exactly_ what she’s been up to. Not that Quinn would ever admit it. “I’m _fine_ ,” she repeats.

There’s the rustle of sheets as Rachel settles back into her bed. Quinn’s hand emerges from her sweats and she wishes the bed would just envelop her, completely.

“Were you thinking about Santana?”

“Shut _up_ , Rachel!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Rise and shine!”

Sunlight spills into the room as Rachel pushes the curtains open. Quinn mentioned they had to get up early in order for her to make a pick up in Des Moines and it’s already nearly seven.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Quinn growls from under her blanket. Her hand reaches out and gropes around the nightstand for her iPhone, then it disappears underneath the covers. “ _Rachel_.”

“Yes, Quinn?” Rachel replies, sitting in the chair next to the desk. Today she’s opted for the shirt with the two wolves and the “diva” shorts.

“I had four minutes left before my alarm.”

“Well, you never told me what time you had actually planned get up and I didn’t want you to be late.”

There’s a groan from Quinn’s bed, then the covers drops away, revealing her blonde head. “I guess if we want breakfast, we should get started anyway.” The tone of her voice, however, suggests she’d rather be sleeping.

“Would you like coffee?”

“Yeah. We can get coffee.”

But Rachel’s already crossing the room to hand her a cup. “One sugar, skim milk, right?”

“Usually it’s two sugars,” but when Rachel moves to take the cup back, Quinn shakes her head. “One’s fine. Thank you.” Once she has a couple sips down, she asks, “Wait, when did you make coffee? Did I sleep through it?” There’s a glance over to the small coffee maker that sits next to the television, but it’s unused.

“I went downstairs to the continental breakfast. I didn’t know what you’d want so I just brought up whatever I could carry.” Rachel waves a hand toward the desk, which looks like a mini breakfast buffet. “A couple bagels, a bear claw, something that I think is granola… uh, yogurt, oranges, bananas -- because I owe you some bananas -- and a waffle.”

“A waffle?”

“Yep,” Rachel grins, “I made it myself. They have these little cups of batter and you pour them into the machine and it’s self timed so that they don’t burn and I kind of really want one for my apartment, because I can’t ever seem to time things right in the kitchen.” She stops because Quinn is laughing at her. “What?”

“Nothing… you just… made me a waffle.”

There’s a moment in which Rachel just looks at her, waiting for a further explanation, but Quinn is simply staring back, and watches her while she takes another sip of coffee. It’s abruptly awkward, and Rachel drops her gaze a little and puts on a smile. “It’s about to be a cold waffle if you don’t eat it, soon.”

“Right,” Quinn sighs, and swings her legs out of bed. She stretches when she stands, groaning, her back audibly popping, and she heads over to the little desk to take the chair Rachel had been sitting in, settling in to eat her waffle. Rachel watches her eat for a bit, figuring out what she’s going to finish off, before taking a bagel and granola for herself. She sits on the edge of her bed and they eat in silence for a bit.

When they’re finished, Quinn shoots her a small smile. “Bringing up breakfast was a good idea, Rachel. We’ll be on the road ahead of schedule today.”

Rachel just grins a little in acknowledgement, and, after taking turns in the bathroom getting dressed and ready to go, they’re back out at the truck, bringing JD down for breakfast and a walk. The dog is thrilled to see them, and leaps and dances in small circles around them, emitting huffing little barks. Quinn gets her calmed down with a lot of petting and by offering breakfast, which JD wolfs down, and, partly because they are ahead of schedule, they give her a longer, brisker walk this morning, one that goes all around the Holiday Inn property, and makes Rachel acutely aware of how poorly her flip flops actually fit.

Quinn’s face wears a pleasant flush by the time they get back to the truck, and she’s smiling. “I’m glad we got in a decent walk today. One downside to my job is that I don’t always have time to do this stuff. But JD getting rambunctious is a good way to remind myself that we need some exercise.” She scratches the happily panting dog behind the ears. It makes Rachel happy to see Quinn this relaxed. Maybe the night in the hotel did them both some good. Quinn is already a little more conversational than normal this morning.

The light mood carries through the drive down to Des Moines and there’s even a run of three songs in a row where they sing along together. It actually feels like a college road trip. Except they’re not in college and they’re riding in a semi.

It’s just after noon when they pull into the distribution center where Quinn’s due to pick up her next haul.

“You want to take JD for a walk while I take care of this?” Quinn asks.

“Sure.” Rachel clips the leash on the dog and hops down out of the cab. There isn’t really any grass or anything, but there’s an empty lot adjacent to the pick-up area, so she leads JD in that direction. Quinn’s still in sight, though out of earshot. Rachel wonder what it’s like for Quinn being a woman of the road. Does she constantly have to prove herself? With the way she’s so protective of Rachel on this trip, it’s apparent that it’s not the safest career choice for a single woman, though Quinn’s never been one to shy away from something just because it’s dangerous.

JD sniffs around and pokes her nose at a chunk of concrete. Rachel gently tugs the leash and the dog obediently continues walking alongside her. When Rachel looks back over in the direction of Quinn’s truck, Quinn is actually moving in her direction.

She looks furious.

Rachel’s worried, because something isn’t right. “Is… everything oka--”

“They’ve fucked my schedule.” Quinn storms over toward Rachel, arms crossed.

“They’ve… how so?”

“My pick-up isn’t until tomorrow. Even though the itinerary clearly states that it’s today.”

“Maybe there was a mist--”

“No.” Quinn’s already pulling her phone out of her pocket and showing Rachel the confirmation email. “There wasn’t. At least not on my end.”

JD sits down between them, looking up as they talk.

“So, they’re putting you a day behind. I assume this ruins your entire schedule?” Rachel may not be that well associated with the workings of long-haul trucking, but she understands what it’s like to have a plan thrown off by someone else’s mistake.

“Yeah, basically.” Quinn’s phone disappears back into her pocket. “I mean… I gave myself time in Vegas to wind down for a few days before I pick up to head back east. But that’s supposed to be my time. Now I’m losing a day.” As irritated as Quinn is as she fills Rachel in, she’s gentle as she strokes JD’s head.

“Well, technically,” Rachel considers, looking for the upside of their situation, “you’d didn’t lose a day. It’s just been moved.”

“Great. A day off in Iowa. Fantastic.”

“I’m sure the city of Des Moines has plenty to offer us.”

They’re far enough south now that this is a point along one of Quinn’s usual transport routes, though all she really knows about this area is either where to grab a good lunch or a strong drink. “We should eat lunch. And then I guess we can check out the botanical garden. I never have time to stop and see it.”

She wants to seethe about things a little more, but Rachel’s optimism is making it difficult. Particularly when Rachel’s jogging along next to JD, so the dog can run off some of her pent up energy. Quinn wishes a jog would do the same for her, since she hasn’t been alone long enough to get her usual release. She’s not a damn nymphomaniac or anything, she just prefers to get off on a regular basis to maintain her sanity. No wonder she was so unstable in high school.

Maybe she can send Rachel off to a movie or something later.

Maybe she should stop staring at Rachel’s ass in those booty shorts.

“Uh, we should get going,” Quinn calls out.

Once they’re back in the truck, JD’s panting and Rachel’s glistening a little from the brief workout in the sunny afternoon. She reaches for her bottle of water and takes a deep drink from it, the pulls the drink away from her lips before pouring the rest of it all over herself, the water streaming down her face, onto her shirt, soaking it until it clings to her breasts, nipples erect--

“What?” Rachel asks.

Quinn blinks. Rachel’s still holding the nearly full bottle in her hand and none if it has gone anywhere but in her mouth. “What do you mean, what?”

“You were looking at me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh, your eyes were definitely focused in my direction.”

“I wasn’t… I was thinking.”

Maybe Quinn needs to take care of this pent up energy thing as soon as possible. Not maybe. Definitely.

Lunch at least helps balance Quinn back out to a better mood, though she still manages to grumble about her “lost day” more than once through the course of the meal. Rachel knows there’s no point in pressing Quinn for conversation and their stroll through the Greater Des Moines Botanical Garden is relatively quiet.

Rachel makes a point to consistently consult the brochure and map they received upon entry, which means they’re moving along slowly.

“Is it necessary to read about every single plant?” Quinn asks, though there’s a lilt to the question that’s more amusement than annoyance.

“Given that you paid my admittance, I think it’s only appropriate of me to appreciate the full experience.”

“It was only five bucks.”

“Well, I still don’t want you to think that I’m taking this for granted.”

“I wasn’t really worried about it.” Quinn’s hands stuff themselves in the pockets of her jeans as she turns to continue down the path. It’s easier taking lead than it is to be behind Rachel while she’s wearing those damn shorts.

The weather is beautiful and, as much as time as Quinn’s spent bitching about her itinerary change, it’s nice to be outside instead of cooped up in the truck. There’s a small cafe in the middle of the property that actually has a vegan wrap on the menu, which has Rachel so delighted that Quinn buys two more to stash in the truck’s tiny fridge.

Dogs aren’t allowed in the botanical garden, but there’s a wide expanse of grass outside the facility, so Quinn lets JD off her leash for a little while, tossing a tennis ball that the dog is quick to chase and bring back to her. After a couple of throws, JD carries the ball over to Rachel before dropping it at her feet.

“Aw, you want me to play? Okay, girl. Read--” Rachel frowns as she picks up the toy. “It’s wet.”

Quinn laughs. “She carries it in her mouth, genius.”

Rachel flings the ball, then immediately wipes her hand on Quinn’s arm. Quinn looks down at the spot, mouth hanging open. In response, Rachel shrugs. “She’s your dog.”

JD trots back toward them and returns the ball to Rachel, who picks it up and chucks it, again. When she makes an effort to repeat her previously offending action, Quinn grabs her wrist.

“No way.”

Rachel twists, trying to free herself from Quinn’s grasp, but Quinn’s quick to move with her, ultimately ending up with Quinn trapping Rachel against her, Rachel’s back pressed against her front. Quinn still has a secure grip on Rachel’s arm and she holds the hand inches away from Rachel’s face.

“You wouldn’t. Quinn, that’s disgusting.”

“You should have thought about that before you started this.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

“So, you’re saying you apologize?”

“I’m saying I apologize.”

Quinn releases Rachel’s wrist, but they’re still standing against each other. The late afternoon sun is warming, but not nearly as much as the feeling of Rachel’s intensely close proximity.

“Hey!” The shout comes from somewhere behind them and Rachel spins away from Quinn. “Hey, you need to leash that dog!”

Quinn turns to see a security guard waving his arm in their direction. “We were just leaving,” she calls back to him. Rachel’s already clipping the leash onto JD’s collar and Quinn holds out her hand to take it from her. Instead, Rachel drops the slimy ball right into her palm, then smiles up at her.

“Guess we’d better be going.”

With JD leashed, they head back to the truck, Quinn scowling as she holds the slobbery tennis ball with two fingers. Once they’re settled in and she’s using a Handi Wipe (pointedly not offering one to Rachel as a mild form of revenge), Rachel asks, “So, what now?”

Quinn shrugs as she starts the truck. “There’s a place I like to stop by whenever I come through here. We can head there.”

“Okay,” Rachel agrees. She doesn’t want to tell Quinn she’s not hungry, because they just ate inside the garden, and just lets Quinn drive.

There’s really no other explanation of their destination until they’re pulling into the parking lot of the Pink Unicorn. Rachel stares for a moment. It’s barely into the evening, and they’re pulling into a bar.

“We’re going _here_?”

Quinn shrugs, “Sure. It’s not often I’m in Des Moines and don’t have an early wake-up call. Honestly, I could use a few drinks tonight.”

“I…” She’s hesitating, because it’s one thing to ask Quinn to buy her meals so she doesn’t starve on this journey, but it’s another to hope that Quinn might buy her a drink, because she doesn’t want to sit soberly in a bar next to a drinking Quinn. But she doesn’t feel right asking for a drink, either.

Quinn rolls her eyes and hops out. “Come on. You’ll like it,” she calls back into the truck before slamming her door.

Rachel obeys and follows Quinn inside. Some kind of punky female-fronted band is playing over the speakers in the bar, but not so loudly that Rachel even has to speak up when she leans over to tell Quinn, “I’m going to go to the bathroom to wash JD off my hands.”

Quinn nods, “I’ll be there,” she gestures toward a few empty seats at the bar.

Rachel heads toward the back, where a giant female symbol marks the location of the restroom (there is also a much smaller male symbol for the other bathroom). Rachel goes inside to wash her hands. It’s basically clean, but crowded with graffiti and stickers and assorted symbols painted onto the walls. A typical bar bathroom, in other words.

A typical lesbian bar bathroom, judging by some of the wall adornments. Rachel had suspected it was so based solely on the bar’s name, and all the details add up. She just hadn’t expected to be taken to one in the middle of _Iowa_.

She exits the bathroom with clean hands and scans the bar. She sees Quinn almost immediately, right where she said she’d be, sitting at the bar with her elbows resting comfortably, leaning forward and smiling a little as she listens to the bartender. Rachel circles around to Quinn, and gets a better view of the bartender. She has tousled brown hair and is leaning over _awfully_ close to Quinn, and exposing rather a lot of cleavage…

When she sees Quinn laugh at whatever the bartender just said, Rachel finds herself sitting down next to Quinn with more force than is necessary, and crosses her arms while she regards the two. Quinn glances over at her, then looks back at the bartender, “Oh, Trina, this is my… friend, Rachel. She’s traveling with me on this haul.”

The bartender, presumably Trina, looks over at Rachel and her demeanor shifts abruptly. She gives her a cool once-over and leans away from Quinn, allowing her cleavage to sink back into her top. “Nice to meet you,” she says coldly.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Rachel returns in the same manner.

“What’re you having?” Trina asks now, looking back at Quinn warmly again, “Your usual?” she asks.

“Sure,” Quinn nods. Rachel scowls. She doesn’t even know what Quinn’s “usual” might be.

But when Quinn looks at her expectantly, she finds she’ll be ordering a drink tonight. “I’ll have a...um...a Sidecar, please.”

“A Sidecar?” Trina asks, and shoots Quinn a look of impatience. “I don’t even…” she sighs exaggeratedly, “I’ll be right back.”

“A Sidecar? Really?” Quinn echoes the bartender.

“It’s a classic!” Rachel defends. “What kind of bartender is she that she doesn’t know how to make one?”

Quinn chuckles, “Probably no one has ordered one from her, like, ever. The clientele here don’t exactly tend to go for ‘the classics,’ I honestly think they serve mostly beer.”

“It’s still no excuse,” Rachel grumbles.

“Trina’s good,” Quinn defends mildly, “I’ve never had any complaints.”

Rachel is staring at Quinn, scowl deepening, while Quinn just looks back, amused, when Trina comes back. “Okay, I got the Sidecar recipe, let’s do this,” she groans in exaggerated frustration.

Rachel watches, and the way Trina works it’s clear she does have a lot of bartending experience, but she doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction, so she keeps a skeptical expression as Trina places the “gin and tonic on the rocks with a twist” in front of Quinn and the “your damn Sidecar,” in front of Rachel.

Quinn takes a sip, and just nods and smiles approvingly, earning her a little wink from Trina, who then turns and gives Rachel a haughty look. Quinn’s watching, too, so Rachel picks up the little cocktail glass and takes a sip.

“Ugh! This is awful!” she chokes.

“Oh, _whatever_ ,” Trina growls, and stalks away.

“What is _in_ this?!” Rachel shoves the drink toward Quinn.

Quinn pushes it back delicately, “I don’t know, _I_ didn’t order it!”

“Next time I’m going with something I know!”

“...You’ve never had a Sidecar before!?” Quinn asks incredulously.

“This seemed like a great time to try something new!” Rachel snaps back. “But clearly not here, where they don’t appreciate the _finer things in life_!”

“Actually, I think you’re the one not appreciating your drink.” Quinn takes a sip of her own in obvious relish.

Rachel just huffs and chokes down another sip of the Sidecar. It would be rude not to finish it, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

After the Sidecar, Rachel orders a Cosmo, which earns her another glare from Trina, but at least the bartender knows the recipe. Quinn sticks with her gin and tonic order and as they work their way through their second round, Rachel notices that Quinn is visibly relaxed and even chatty as they make conversation about the new Tegan and Sara that came out last month.

“I saw them last time they played in New York. Great energy. And they’re both very sweet.”

“That’s probably because you’re all famous.” Quinn says, swishing the cocktail stirrer around in her drink.

“I’m not _famous_ ,” Rachel corrects. “I’m simply well known in certain circles.”

“Well, I have no idea _who you are_ ,” Trina pointedly comments. “How are you on that drink, Quinn? Need another?”

Quinn shoots Trina a smile. “Not yet, thanks.”

Trina looks at Rachel, then at her drink, then at Rachel. “You?”

“No, I’m--” But Trina’s already walking to the other end of the bar to help another customer. Rachel makes a face in her general direction. “She makes a good Cosmo, but what a bitch.”

“She probably made a good Sidecar, too, you just weren’t able to tell.”

“Quinn, it tasted like citrus fire.”

That just makes Quinn laugh. “I’m just saying, she’s good at her job. And she’s never been rude to me.”

“Yeah, because you’re staring at her tits the whole time.” Rachel’s not generally one to colloquialize body parts, but that Sidecar, as terrible as it tasted, was pretty strong.

“I’m not _staring_ at anything.” It’s a smooth defense, not really sounding as if Quinn cares what Rachel thinks. Because Quinn doesn’t. Or she shouldn’t. This is her place, her route, her day off.

“Oh, Quinn. Hi, Quinn. The usual? I know what you drink so I must be a genius and an expert on all things Quinn Fabray.” Rachel takes a large sip. “She probably doesn’t even know your last name is Fabray. Or that your first name isn’t even Quinn.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “She’s just the bartender, Rachel. She doesn’t have to know my life story.” If the evening is going in this direction, she’s going to need another drink. She signals down the bar for another and Trina nods.

“Oh, Quinn. You want another drink?” Rachel mimics. “Maybe I’ll serve it to you with my bosoms.”

“Shut up and finish your drink, Sex and the City.”

Rachel complies and by the time she sets the empty glass on the bar, Trina’s delivering round number three, shoving the Cosmo into place. “May I get a water, please?” If she plans to keep up with Quinn, she needs a little break or else she’ll be passed out in a corner somewhere. Not that Quinn would leave her in a corner. Without a word, Trina all but slams the glass of water onto the bartop.

“Here you go,” she says with a saccharine smile.

“You know,” Quinn observes, once Trina is busy washing glasses down the bar. “I’m starting to think maybe she doesn’t like you.”

Rachel works through half the glass of water, letting it settle her sense a little. It’s then that things start to take shape in her mind. “You said you don’t get a chance to come through here that often, right?”

“A few times a year.”

“But she knows your usual drink.”

“She’s good at what she does.”

“You totally slept with her.”

“I…” Quinn’s instinct is to deny it, but then there really isn’t a point. “I’m not in a relationship, so why should it matter?”

“It doesn’t. If you want to line up booty calls across America, that’s your business.”

“I don’t have them _lined up_.”

“Is that why we came here? So you can disappear into the back and leave me alone with whatever random biker women happen to frequent this place in the middle of the week?”

“I came here to relax.” Though, now that Rachel’s brought it up, Quinn wonders if it would be bad form to meet up with Trina for a little while. She could _really_ use the release.

A silence settles between them, though it’s certainly not quiet in the bar with the digital jukebox in the corner playing an acoustic Alanis Morissette track. Rachel finishes her water, then excuses herself to the restroom. While she’s gone, Trina clears the empty glass, but leaves the still full Cosmo alone.

“So, your… friend… she’s something. You pick her up somewhere local?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “We went to high school together.”

“Was she this annoying back then?”

“More, actually.” Quinn realizes that she actually _is_ staring at Trina’s chest and forces her eyes upward. “But she’s… she’s not what you’d expect.” Trina’s look suggests that she has no idea what Quinn’s trying to say with that and, really, Quinn isn’t sure, either. “She’s intense, but she’s a good person.”

“As long as she tips well, I don’t really care.”

“Then maybe try delivering her drinks with a little more finesse and a little less rage,” Quinn offers, raising an eyebrow as she brings her glass to her lips.

Trina’s about to reply, but then Rachel’s back and climbing back onto her stool. “Let me know when you’re ready for another round,” is all she says before walking away.

“I get it.” Rachel scoots her drink closer to the edge of the bar, causing it to slosh a little in the glass. “She kind of looks like Santana.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Dark hair, dark eyes… she looks like she could be Latina.”

“Rachel, she looks nothing like Santana.”

“Not even the part where she has huge boobs?”

“Okay, maybe,” Quinn admits. “But that’s absolutely reaching for a similarity. She’s definitely shorter than Santana and her face shape is entirely different. If anything, she looks more like you--” And, in that moment, Quinn makes a realization so obvious that she’s mentally kicking herself for not seeing it sooner. “But whatever. Because Santana was a long time ago and I’ve slept with plenty of women since then. I’m not hung up on her. If anything, it seems like you’re hung up on her.”

“I’m not. I’m still just digesting the news that you two hooked up.”

“Well, digest this: I had two college girlfriends, plus some dorm room hook-ups, and plenty of action since I graduated.”

“Must be nice to have the luxury,” Rachel mumbles to her drink.

“I’m sure you have no problem picking up anyone. You’re…” Quinn leans back from the bar to give Rachel the once over. “All legs and talent.”

“That’s actually quite sweet of you to say, thank you.” She sits up straighter and smiles, but then her expression turns a little wry. “Admittedly, it’s a bit easier with men.”

“But you do… like… do women?”

“Yes, of course, Quinn!” Rachel answers incredulously, “Did you miss my whole story about me and Cassie July?!”

Quinn shrugs and focuses on her drink, “I just wondered if that could’ve been some kind of… experiment.”

“As much as you and Santana were an experiment, sure,” Rachel answers coolly, “It helped me know myself, and I am attracted to and can fall in love with men and women.”

“Ah, well. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Quinn answers awkwardly, then smiles, “I knew you were too boy-crazy in high school to be like, _totally_ gay.”

“Like you?” Rachel asks with a raised eyebrow.

Quinn laughs now. “Yeah. Like me.” She raises her glass, and they have an impromptu toast to their queerness. It feels totally natural.

Rachel smiles as they enjoy the moment, and then abruptly asks, “You really don’t think I look like Trina, do you?”

“No. You really don’t.” Quinn agrees.

“Good,” Rachel confirms, though she can’t really say now why that’s so important.

“You know,” Quinn begins, “It’s really been awhile since we drank together.”

“What are you talking about? We just drank three nights ago at Kurt and Blaine’s wedding.”

“Ah. Right. Well, I was barely drinking. I was actually thinking about that time we all partied at your house. The Glee club, I mean.” She looks mischievous, now, a bit more like her high school self, “What even was that dress you were wearing?”

“How do you even remember what I was wearing? _I_ don’t even remember what I was wearing on that awful night,” Rachel retorts, but it’s all playful.

“It was pretty awful,” Quinn agrees, and her expression changes, “I think I was going to start walking down memory lane, but ugh, let’s not.”

“Why not? I’d really like to relive that time…” But she trails off because, yeah, she really can’t think of much she’d like to relive. “Never mind.”

“Yeah,” Quinn answers, and they order another round. While Trina makes the drinks, Quinn asks, “Truth or dare?”

“What?”

“In honor of the borderline nostalgia moment. It’s either that or Spin the Bottle, but with just the two of us, that would get--”

“Truth.”

“Did you ever have a sex dream about any of our teachers?”

Rachel’s quick to answer. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“I don’t believe an explanation was outlined in the question. Truth or dare?”

“Rachel, come on. Who?” But Rachel doesn’t give in, so Quinn sighs. “Truth.”

“Have you ever had a sex dream about a major political figure?”

“What? No. Wait,” Quinn seriously considers what she’s been asked. “Okay, no.”

“What? Not even Michelle Obama? Sonia Sotomayor? _Hillary Clinton_?! I even had an erotic dream once about Sarah Palin.”

Quinn spits her drink across the counter top. “What? No. Rachel. No.”

“She took me on a guided tour of the Alaskan Wilderness and once we arrived at a cabin that was hand-built based on a guide by Martha Stewart, we--”

“It’s okay. I don’t really need to know the details about that. I do need to know which teacher, though.”

“I didn’t even pick Truth.”

“Well, the dare is to flash the entire bar.”

“So, it was Holly Holliday.”

“You know what? Me, too.”

“Wow, I didn’t even expect that she’d be your type.”

“I think she’s everyone’s type.”

Rachel nods in agreement and takes a drink. There’s a strong buzz already surging through her, so she sips what she has, not wanting to lose pace with Quinn. The bar has really begun to fill up and, once Rachel sees the set-up in the corner, she realizes why. It’s karaoke night. Quinn follows Rachel’s gaze, then looks back at her.

“You thinking about singing something?”

“Should I?”

Quinn gives Rachel a pointed look. “Seriously? Rachel Berry is asking if she should sing something?” She grips Rachel’s arm and tugs her off the seat. “Go sign up.”

“Sing with me?” Rachel asks, looking uncertain.

“Um.” Quinn is really not too sure she should be singing anything in public with a Broadway star. “No, I really think you’re best solo.”

Rachel bites her lip and goes up to talk to the girl with the uneven haircut at the karaoke table. Quinn watches as they seem to come to an agreement about something and Rachel comes back to sit next to Quinn looking pleased.

“I signed us up for the Celine Dion classic ‘ _It’s All Coming Back To Me Now_ ,’” she reports.

“What? No. No way. I’m not singing that. That song is like ten minutes long and I didn’t want to sing tonight!”

“Oh, please. I’m sure it’s abridged for karaoke!”

Except it isn’t and Quinn is trapped on the small stage with Rachel for the entire duration of the number. As soon as it ends, the room explodes in drunken applause and Quinn immediately rushes toward the bathroom.

Rachel, unsure as to why Quinn’s in such a hurry, smiles at the crowd as she passes the microphone back to the emcee, then quickly offers a small bow before chasing after her friend.

“Quinn?” she calls out, stepping into the restroom. “Are you okay?”

From inside the one of the two stalls that’s occupied, Quinn replies, “I’m fine. I just had to pee, because that song is eternal and I had to go before we even started it.”

“It’s barely six minutes.”

Rachel turns to the mirror to inspect her appearance. Her cheeks are a little pink and she isn’t sure if that’s from the alcohol or the sun she took in on their outing. There’s the sound of the toilet flushing, then Quinn emerges from behind the small door of the stall. As Quinn washes her hands, Rachel observes the space. Having performed in more than a handful of gay bars in New York City, she’s aware of what can happen in them.

“Is this where you have sex with Trina?”

“Ew, no. That’s gross.” Quinn retrieves a paper towel and dries her hands. “The store room once. But usually in her office.”

Rachel, despite not particularly wanting to, imagines the scenario in her mind. “On her desk?”

Quinn smirks. “Yeah.”

“Is that how all of your on-the-road encounters are? Back rooms and desktops?”

“Not all. Sometimes we meet in my truck.”

And now Rachel’s suddenly picturing what that’s like, Quinn taking a lover behind the curtain of her cab. “So, I’ve slept where you’ve… uh…”

Quinn nods. “I wash my sheets regularly,” she defends. But she’s looking at Rachel, right in the eyes.

“And how does JD feel about these guests?” Rachel asks.

“She doesn’t mind. Though, she seems to like you best, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It pleases Rachel that she appears to be the dog’s favorite, though that’s not a particular priority in regard to the conversation. “I wasn’t worried.”

Quinn’s leaning on the sink with one hand and her other is still gripping the damp paper towel. “You’re awfully interested in my sex life.”

“Mine’s not nearly as fascinating.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Are you saying you want details?”

“It would be fair. Reciprocity.”

“Reciprocity.” They’re moving closer together now. Rachel’s not sure how and why it’s happening. “ _Because the system works; the system called...RE-CI-PRO-CI-TYYYYYYYY_ ,” she breaks into the song from _Chicago_.

Quinn laughs, shaking her head so that her hair falls over her eyes, and keeps just looking at her. She hasn’t moved away. If anything, she’s even closer now.

The bathroom door opens, and a solid-looking woman in a leather vest strides in and booms, “You girls in line? Because I’ve got a piss like a _racehorse_!” At least two more women are crowding in behind her. Something about her demeanor, forceful but polite, reminds Rachel of Coach Beiste. She actually kind of looks like her, too…

“No, we were just leaving,” Quinn answers, and grabs Rachel’s elbow to pull her past the women now jostling each other to claim a stall.

Quinn keeps her hand on Rachel’s elbow and guides her over to a booth, abandoning their seats at the bar with Trina. Because Quinn doesn’t really seem inclined to let go, Rachel just ends up sitting on the same side of the booth, sliding in and facing her.

“So,” Rachel prompts, not sure if they’re continuing whatever conversation they were just having. Quinn’s hand slips away from her elbow, but still rests on Rachel’s forearm.

“So, you were spontaneously breaking out into showtunes, as usual.”

“I’ve never had a reputation for breaking out into _showtunes_. Just songs in general.”

“Maybe you should look into doing it professionally,” Quinn teases, poking Rachel in the arm with her free hand.

“Maybe,” though Rachel really has no interest in talking about her career, right now. She’d rather keep discussing Quinn’s sex life, frankly. “We left our drinks at the bar.”

“You want me to order more?”

“Not sure if I should keep drinking, actually.”

“Oh. Are you not having a good time?” Quinn asks.

“I am, I just…” Rachel’s hand rests on Quinn’s knee. “Do we have to stay in here?”

“Are you… wanting to go somewhere else?”

“Might be quieter out in the truck. For our conversation.”

“Might be.”

“Yeah, so, um.”

“I’ll pay our tab.” But she isn’t letting go of Rachel’s arm.

“Okay.”

“...You’ll have to get up first.”

“Yeah. Right. Okay,” she complies, and untangles her arm from Quinn’s and gets up from the booth unsteadily.

Quinn follows and is quick to grip her around the waist. “You okay?”

Rachel nods. “Yep.”

Quinn nods, and heads up to the bar, where she manages to flag down Trina. Rachel watches with narrowed eyes, but the exchange is quick, and Trina doesn’t seem to be doing anything untoward. It isn’t long before Quinn is back by her side and taking her hand, and they’re leaving the Pink Unicorn together, heading for Quinn’s truck.

Rachel’s the first one up into the rig, with Quinn right behind her, shutting the door behind them. For some reason, Rachel’s stopped and is now sitting down in the passenger seat, leaving Quinn squeezed in next to her.

“You’re right,” Quinn says, “it’s definitely much quieter in--” The rest of her sentence is muffled in Rachel’s mouth, because they’re kissing. For a moment, Quinn is too stunned to even respond, because even though she’d been _thinking_ about this for far too much of the last several days, she wasn’t actually expecting it to happen, right here, right now. But then she kisses back, grabbing the back of Rachel’s wolf shirt to pull her closer, and Rachel gasps into her mouth and bites her lower lip. Quinn feels Rachel’s hand slide through her hair and tug gently, and now it’s Quinn’s turn to stifle a moan.

They pull back for a moment, and Rachel is kissing Quinn’s neck now, and without thinking much about it, Quinn is stroking her hair. She tilts Rachel’s head back so they can kiss again, and this time it’s even more hot and uncoordinated and _desperate_ , and Quinn has finally realized just how uncomfortable it is to be squeezed into the same seat together, where there’s really only room for them to maneuver an arm each.

“Should we go to the--”

“Yes.” Rachel agrees immediately, and is twisting out of the seat to circle back toward the bunk.

Quinn follows, and there’s JD, curled up on the bed, tail thumping a greeting. “JD,” Quinn commands, “Go to your seat.”

With a huff, the dog stands, shakes, and slinks off through the curtain to the front of the truck, where she will stay in the passenger’s seat until Quinn tells her differently.

When Quinn looks back, it’s Rachel sitting on the bed instead, and she’s tugging Quinn down next to her by her checked shirt. As she settles next to Rachel on the foam mattress, Quinn gently brushes her fingers across Rachel’s forehead, pushing a few stray hairs away from her face.

“You’re sure you want to…”

“Quinn, not only am I absolutely sure about it, I’m fairly certain it’s been longer for me than it has for you.” Rachel toys with the buttons on Quinn’s shirt. “You’re not the only one with an evening routine, by the way.”

That’s enough to make Quinn quirk an eyebrow. The image of Rachel, stretched out on one of the hotel beds, hand down her booty shorts, back arching as she brings herself to climax… it’s better than the erotica she has stashed on her iPad.

She breathes out an, “Okay,” in response, though it doesn’t really carry any volume with it. Her mouth is back on Rachel’s and they’re kissing again, but now Rachel’s fumbling with buttons until Quinn shrugs the shirt off her shoulders. Then it’s Rachel’s t-shirt, close behind.

She focuses on the bra clad breasts in front of her and it’s next to impossible to look away. In fact, it isn’t until Rachel’s hands slip up over Quinn’s own bra that her gaze shifts, first downward at the point of contact, then back up at Rachel. She’s drunk, she’s horny, she’s having difficulty with cognitive thought, but then it comes to her. “I should take my pants off.”

Rachel laughs. “You should, yes.”

Quinn twists to the side, trying to slide them down, but it isn’t until Rachel reaches over and unbuckles her belt that she realizes why they’re not coming off. But Rachel doesn’t stop there. She’s half off the mattress, unbuttoning Quinn’s pants, and pulling them off for her. When they’re at Quinn’s knees, she realizes that Rachel has taken her underwear with them.

“Oh,” Quinn gasps stupidly, as Rachel finishes tugging her pants off each ankle and tosses them aside. Quinn just watches as Rachel strokes each thigh reverently, and then glances up to meet Quinn’s eye. It’s an invitation, somehow, and Quinn shifts, while Rachel rests her hands on her thighs and encourages her to open her legs.

Rachel’s eyes drop between Quinn’s legs, and barely a moment later, her mouth is there.

“Oh,” Quinn gasps again, then continues, “Oh, _fuck_.” Her hand gropes to find Rachel’s hair, and she grasps it as she moves her hips in rhythm with Rachel’s mouth. If this is Rachel’s way of telling Quinn about her sexual history, Quinn’s very, very impressed. Given the state she’s been in over the past couple of days, this isn’t going to take long, especially if Rachel’s going to keep glancing up at her while she’s going down on her. “ _Fuck_ ,” she repeats, one foot bracing against the wall of the small space as she continues to move with Rachel. Her head tips back and her eyes squeeze shut as she comes, but Rachel just continues lapping and sucking and Quinn’s ultimately pushed over into a second orgasm, after which she curls forward and tugs on Rachel’s hair, trying to get away from Rachel’s spectacular mouth, if only because she’s afraid she’ll pass out or kick out a window or something because of it.

“Fuck,” she repeats, yet again.

Rachel chuckles, running the back of her hand over her mouth. “Fuck?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Quinn is trying to collect her thoughts. It’s been _so long_ , for her anyway, that most of her just wants to pass out. But there’s Rachel, getting up to sit back on the bed next to her, and she’s again hit with the image of Rachel masturbating, and, _yeah_ , she definitely needs to see Rachel come before the night is over.

She pulls Rachel toward her for a kiss, and it’s a little gentler than their last kisses, but still kind of messy and, yeah, still desperate. Quinn unhooks Rachel’s bra and lowers her mouth to her nipples, making Rachel groan. “No fair,” Rachel gasps, “Yours is still on.”

Quinn pulls away enough to murmur, “Maybe if you hadn’t been so desperate to go down on me, you’d have had the chance to enjoy them.”

Rachel makes a frustrated noise that turns into a kind of moan as Quinn brings a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue over it. It hits her then, that, _fuck_ , Rachel is in the back of her truck in just those goddamn booty shorts, and with that, Quinn tugs Rachel until she’s straddling Quinn’s lap, so she can _finally_ run her hands over that ass.

Rachel focuses her attention on Quinn’s neck and chest, peppering it with kisses, occasionally making pleased hums as Quinn runs her hands over her back and grabs at her ass. A lot. She’s been a little obsessed for the past few days, after all. Around when Rachel finally gets to remove Quinn’s bra and places her palms over her breasts, Quinn reaches a hand down the front of the booty shorts and slides her fingers down, finding Rachel’s clit.

Rachel gasps and leans forward to sink her teeth into Quinn’s shoulder, stifling a moan in the process. Quinn strokes slowly at first, then begins to pick up speed, though before too long, Rachel grips both of Quinn’s breasts hard and murmurs, “Fuck. Me.”

“Working on it,” Quinn grins.

“No, I mean, fuck me. Fingers. Inside.”

“Oh...kay.” _Fuck_. She moves her hand lower, practically removing the booty shorts with her wrist, to angle her fingers inside. As soon as two fingers slip in, Rachel releases a deeply satisfied exhale, and Quinn just takes a moment to feel all the wet and warm and the pulsing and…

She’s moving her fingers now, or maybe really Rachel is riding them, while straddling Quinn’s lap, and all Quinn wants to do is ensure she won’t forget any detail of this experience.

But the angle really isn’t ideal, and her wrist is cramping up far too quickly, so she slides out, making Rachel sigh in frustration, before grabbing Rachel’s hips and twisting her body to maneuver her onto her back. There’s some uncoordinated untangling of their limbs, and some readjusting so that there’s room on the bunk, and then Quinn is tugging off the booty shorts and sliding her fingers back inside. Rachel moans in satisfaction, but the sound abruptly crescendos, because Quinn follows her fingers by placing her mouth on Rachel’s clit. This position has some awkwardness of its own, but at least Quinn has had a lot more experience with it.

“Ohhhh, fuck, yes, oh my god, fuck, you’re going to make me come so hard, fuck, fuck me, god, yes, deeper, like that, yes,” it’s not that loud, it’s closer to a throaty whisper, and if it was anyone else being so talkative and commanding, Quinn would probably find a way to cover her mouth. But for some reason, Rachel saying these things to her is just making her wet all over again. Who knew the former queen of knee highs and argyle was such a filthy talker?

“Fuck, I’m getting close, so fucking close, I’m going to come all over your face, Quinn, just keep--yes--fucking yes, just like that, I’m…” Rachel trails off, and there is a good ten seconds in which she seems not to breathe at all, and then her hips buck, hard, up against Quinn’s mouth and she’s moaning, low and, really, not as loud as Quinn expected, and it’s a deeply satisfying sound, and Rachel Berry is coming, against Quinn’s face, in the back of her truck.

As Rachel catches her breath and utters an amazed “ _Fuck_ ,” of her own, Quinn pulls away and wipes her hand and face on her discarded shirt, her heartbeat still roaring in her own ears. Most of Quinn still can’t really believe what just happened. The rest of her is just so ready for sleep.

When she climbs back up the bed to drop her head onto a pillow, Rachel immediately cozies up to her, tucking her head under Quinn’s chin. Her breathing is already shallow and, between the sex and the booze, it’s apparent that Rachel’s just as ready to drift off as Quinn feels. There’s a soft, drowsy kiss against her neck and Quinn responds with one to the top of Rachel’s head, then she closes her eyes and allows the feeling of Rachel’s heartbeat against her own to lull her off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

It's about an hour or so later when Rachel wakes up, still buzzed from the alcohol and sated by the orgasm. She also really has to use the restroom.

Quinn’s wrapped around her, snoring lightly, and when Rachel shifts to try and free herself, Quinn just sleepily rolls over as she mumbles something unintelligible, because she’s still sound asleep.

Rachel gropes around for her shorts and her t-shirt. The former is close by but the latter is nowhere to be found, so she just slips on Quinn’s button-up and fastens enough buttons to be decently covered before sliding her feet into her flip-flops. JD lifts a single ear as Rachel emerges from behind the curtain, but she, much like her owner, is tired and not really looking to be bothered so she simply sighs as Rachel climbs over the passenger seat and out the door.

The fresh air is slightly sobering and Rachel was never really wasted, just a little drunk, so her walk back into the bar isn’t much of an ordeal. It’s still early by nightlife standards so the place is much alive with patrons and music when she steps through the door. But she has no interest in anything other than relieving her bladder, so she passes right by anyone who might be looking at her, not really that concerned about the fact that maybe she’s sporting a case of JBF hair. On top of her buzz, she’s still hazy from sleep.

The bathroom line is mercifully short and she’s finished and washing up at the sink in a matter of minutes. As she rinses her hands, a woman who’s waiting for an open stall looks her over.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re fucking hot.”

The woman is clearly drunk, but that doesn’t mean Rachel isn’t flattered. “Thank you,” she replies with a polite smile.

“What are you drinking?” The woman staggers a little closer, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. “I’ll put it on my tab.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet, but I’m actually not staying.” Rachel has to reach past her to get to the paper towels, but as she raises her arm toward them, the woman somehow interprets that as an invitation to awkwardly caress Rachel’s arm.

“It’s too early to leave! We just met.”

Rachel’s about to clarify that she already has someone waiting for her, but the other stall opens and Trina emerges.

“Lorraine,” Trina says, sharply. “Back off or I cut you off at the bar.”

“Shit, sorry.” Lorraine’s quick to withdraw her hand and she immediately uses it to brace herself against the wall.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing to me. She’s the one who’s not interested.”

“Sorry,” Lorraine mumbles to Rachel, then stumbles toward the now-open stall.

“Thank you,” Rachel says, finally securing a towel.

“Why are you talking to me? I don’t like you.” Trina snatches the unused paper towel from Rachel, dries her hands with it, then tosses the crumpled ball into the trash can.

As she exits, Rachel just shakes her head and wonders what Quinn ever saw in her in the first place. Clearly, she’s rude and condescending. Then again, so is Santana.

But she believes Quinn when she says she’s not hung up on Santana, so she doesn’t think much more about Trina as she heads hazily back to the truck.

As she awkwardly climbs back into the cab, JD lifts her head for a moment and thumps her tail, which Rachel takes as a request for pets, so she gives her a brief pat. She then pushes through the curtain to the bunk and begins to fumble with the buttons on the shirt she’s wearing. Once it’s off, the booty shorts follow, and she lifts the sheets then slides into the bunk next to Quinn.

“Where’d you go?” Quinn asks blearily, wrapping an arm back around her.

“Bathroom,” Rachel whispers back, eyes closing, sleep already imminent.

“Kay,” Quinn grunts in response, and they drift back off to sleep together.

Hours later, Quinn is jarred awake by the sound of JD barking at her. It’s not her warning bark, it’s her “I need to go out” bark and despite the fact that her life isn’t in danger, Quinn knows she can’t ignore it.

“Yeah, okay,” she grumbles. Her left arm is tucked under her head and as she straightens it out, she’s met with the painful tingle of recirculation. Rachel is still asleep and twisted away from her, not moving as Quinn climbs over her to get to her clothes so she can take the dog out.

It’s daylight outside, though just barely. Still, it’s enough for Quinn to want to shove her sunglasses over her eyes before descending from the truck with JD. Her head is pounding, so once it’s apparent that the bar lot is empty, she releases the dog from the leash and lets her sniff around on her own for a place to do her business.

Quinn’s memory of the previous night is a little clouded, but none of it is inaccessible. She and Rachel definitely slept together. No, they _fucked_. Like, “got drunk in a bar and came out to her truck to get down and dirty” kind of fucked.

It’s obvious that Rachel finds her attractive enough to enjoy the perks of sex on the road, but that’s all this was, right? Even Quinn herself was considering a hook up with Trina just to get off, so couldn’t Rachel have been wanting the same kind of thing with Quinn?

This is stupid. For years Quinn has been able to force herself not to think about Rachel Berry as anything other than a friend and now she’s seen her naked, watched her come--fuck, _made_ her come--and snuggled in the goddamn afterglow.

She hates how much she really liked it, all of it.

Maybe there’s more to it than sex. Or maybe that’s idiotic wishful thinking. Rachel’s a Broadway star. Quinn’s a long haul trucker. Nothing about that computes. Nothing about any of this suggests she’ll ever really see Rachel again after they make it to Vegas.

Which is two days from now.

She whistles for JD, which immediately makes her cringe because of her headache, and ushers the dog back up into the rig.

Rachel’s already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in her shorts and the shirt with the eagle/American flag design. She greets Quinn with a gravelly, “Good morning,” and a wincing attempt at a smile.

Quinn’s reply is nothing more than a, “Hey,” followed by, “I guess we should head to the truck stop so we can clean up and get breakfast.”

Rachel nods, rubbing a hand over JD’s head before taking her place in the passenger seat while Quinn walks around the truck to the driver’s side.

She’d woken up to the sound of the truck door slamming as Quinn had taken the dog out. It wasn’t the waking up alone in the bunk that bothered her so much. She could understand Quinn needing to walk the dog. But a good morning kiss, or at least Quinn letting her know where she was going...if that had happened, she wouldn’t have woken up with anxiety in her chest.

The anxiety is there now. It was enough to make her decide to get dressed instead of waiting naked in the bed for Quinn to come back. It’s even stronger now, with the way Quinn has greeted her. No smiles. No kisses. She didn’t even _try_ to touch her, didn’t wait by the door for Rachel to take her seat so she _could_ kiss and touch her.

The last thing Rachel wants to be is someone’s regretful one night stand. It’s why she really doesn’t do them. It’s important for her to have genuine _feelings_ for the people she sleeps with, and even if the alcohol she drank last night played a big role in lowering her inhibitions...there were inhibitions to be lowered, inhibitions covering something she was definitely interested in doing. She wanted Quinn, and not just physically. It was simply the best way she knew at the time to express how she was feeling, how missing Quinn and reconnecting with her on this journey was reawakening old feelings, feelings she hadn’t been able to quite name back in high school, but could certainly identify now.

But it’s clear that Quinn regrets this. Or, well. Maybe she’s just hungover. Rachel certainly is. But then why aren’t they cuddled in the bunk, commiserating? From what Quinn said yesterday, the next haul won’t be ready until later. Why is she in such a hurry to start the day when they both clearly want to go back to bed?

Maybe she’ll press, just a little. Enough to find out if Quinn _really_ regrets this without having her heart shattered in the process.

The driver’s door opens and Quinn swings up into the seat, sunglasses still in place. She rubs at the steering wheel, sighs, and then starts up the truck, all without even a glance toward Rachel.

Rachel looks to JD, at rest between the bucket seats and panting happily. “Looks like someone’s a grumblebee this morning.”

Quinn looks at Rachel over the top of her sunglasses. It’s only a minor victory, because her expression is unamused. “What?”

“A grumblebee,” Rachel makes sure to enunciate each syllable.

“What even is that?”

“A bee that grumbles, I’d assume. Whatever it is, it’s not very happy.”

Quinn just stares at her for a moment, then shifts the truck into gear.

Rachel shakes her head. “Such a grumblebee,” she speaks an aside to JD.

“Stop.”

Resisting the urge to say it again, Rachel just hums and focuses out the window.

The drive to the truck stop is made in silence and there’s really nothing to be said as they wash up, side by side, at the sinks in the women’s restroom. The fact that Rachel’s taking what’s generally referred to as a “whore’s bath” isn’t making her feel any better about last night.

Breakfast is more of the same uneasy non-conversation. Quinn plays with her phone while Rachel flips through a copy of the Des Moines Daily News business section that someone left behind. When they’re done with their light breakfasts, they linger for awhile, nursing several cups of coffee while they both wait for their headaches to abate and ensure their stomachs are settled. There really isn’t much to say, and Rachel doesn’t have any desire to push Quinn’s buttons anymore, so she just ends up reading the entire newspaper. Some parts twice.

It’s verging on late-morning when Quinn’s phone rings in her hand. She scowls a little, but answers it, voice husky from lack of use. The conversation is brief, and when she ends the call, she meets Rachel’s eyes for a brief moment before explaining, “That was my pickup. It’s ready early, so we can head over there now.”

“Okay,” Rachel replies, trying for nonchalant. Quinn’s already getting up out of the booth and Rachel doesn’t want to irritate Quinn by lagging, so she rushes to follow, only to have her sandal get caught on the table leg. This sends her sprawling forward, toward the floor, but Quinn’s quick to catch her with a strong arm around her shoulders.

“You okay?” Quinn asks, eyes searching for any injury, even though Rachel didn’t actually have a chance to really fall, at all.

Rachel nods and Quinn’s arm falls away, taking with it the brief comfort of their momentary contact.

“I’m going to get something in the convenience store. Want anything?” Quinn asks after she steps away deliberately.

“Water, please,” Rachel answers, “I’m going to use the restroom one more time.”

When Rachel gets out of the bathroom, she heads toward the truck, where she sees Quinn bringing JD down. “I’m going to take her on a quick walk,” Quinn tells Rachel when she’s near enough, “Your water is on your seat.”

“Thank you,” Rachel says, and climbs into the truck while Quinn circles around the side of the truck stop building with the dog.

She’s gone a few minutes, leaving Rachel with nothing much to do but sit and feel awkward. When she returns, Rachel twists in her seat to allow JD to hop up and head toward the bunk, and then Quinn circles around to hop into the driver’s seat.

Almost immediately, Rachel’s nose twitches. She takes a bigger sniff and feels her lip curl involuntarily. “Quinn. Were you just _smoking_?!”

“No,” is the curt, defensive reply.

Rachel lunges out of her seat to reach for the breast pocket of Quinn’s button-up, where she has abruptly notices a conspicuous rectangle. Though Quinn tries to jerk away, Rachel is too quick, and a moment later she’s holding a freshly opened pack of cigarettes in her hand.

“This is unbelievably stupid!” She shakes the pack at Quinn for emphasis.

Quinn snatches it back with a scowl and tosses it up on the dash, closest to the driver’s side window and out of Rachel’s reach. “Who are you, my mother?”

“I thought you stopped smoking in high school!”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I did. Mostly. Now, I’m an adult and I can do what I like.” Quinn starts the truck and begins to move out of the parking lot.

“Destroying your body is not a very adult decision!”

“You’re the one who’s been hungover twice already on this trip.”

Rachel sputters for a moment. “I was at a _wedding_! Then _you_ took me out drinking, and…”

“Oh, right, so this is all my fault. Maybe if _you_ hadn’t kissed me!”

“I didn’t realize you were looking to place blame regarding the events of last night.”

“I’m not… I…” Quinn groans and sets her jaw as she stares at the road in front of her. “I just wanted a cigarette, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever. Smoke the whole pack.”

“Fine. I will.”

“ _Fine_.”

Quinn reaches for the pack, slips another cigarette out, then brings it to her lips. Rachel watches, arms crossed over her chest, as Quinn fishes the disposable lighter out of her breast pocket and flicks it on.

The second the flame hits the tip of the paper rolled tobacco, Rachel audibly sighs.

“ _What_?” Quinn mumbles, the cigarette bobbing between her lips.

“My voice is my income, so if my voice is irreparably damaged by this…”

“You’ll what? Sue me?”

“Possibly.”

Quinn takes a drag and removes the cigarette from her mouth, using it to gesture toward the cell phone that’s charging on the center console. “Go ahead. Call your lawyer.”

Rachel turns away, cracking her window open to draw in fresh air. Except the draft really just pulls the smoke toward her. Quinn, who really was just smoking out of principle either doesn’t want a lawsuit or maybe just has resolved to not be the biggest dick in the world, opens her own window and tosses the mostly unsmoked cigarette out the window.

Which immediately causes Rachel to say, “Quinn! You could start a fire!”

“Jesus christ, Rachel.”

“I doubt he’d condone littering,” Rachel mutters, rolling her own window back up.

It’s only a few minutes later that they pull into the warehouse they’d visited yesterday, and Quinn wordlessly maneuvers her truck to the loading dock and then hops down to do… whatever it is she has to do. But about two seconds later, the door is open again, and Quinn hops back up to grab her cigarettes from the dashboard, giving Rachel a pointed look as she sticks them back into her breast pocket. Then she’s back down and out, door slamming behind her.

Rachel scowls after her for a moment, wondering how it's possible that even something as awful as _smoking_ still manages to look good on Quinn. she  twists in her seat to look back at JD, who is curled up on the bunk and looks at Rachel with forlorn eyes. “Seriously. What a grumblebee.”


	10. Chapter 10

Quinn spends the first leg of her newest haul doing two things: Terrorizing Rachel with the pack of cigarettes and stewing over why Rachel isn’t more concerned about her career.

Every half hour or so, Quinn reaches for the pack, just to move it, stuff it in her pocket, then take it back out. She doesn’t really feel the urge to smoke another. The first one she had served its purpose and now she just derives a sick joy from the way Rachel pretends not to notice, but absolutely responds with resistant body language whenever it seems like Quinn might light back up.

Between these moments of torturing her passenger, Quinn’s left to her thoughts. Goading Rachel to call her lawyer about a second-hand smoke damages lawsuit had just been for show. She didn’t expect Rachel to call anyone. Not about that. She is, however, curious as to why Rachel hasn’t put in any calls or texts to anyone but Puck and her fathers.

“Won’t your manager be wondering where you are?” Quinn asks. To her, it’s in line with her thinking.

To Rachel, it’s out of the blue. “What?”

“You haven’t talked to him. Or her. Whoever they are.”

“How do you know?”

“Uh, it’s my phone. You’ve only contacted two numbers and one’s definitely Puck, because he’s already in my contacts. The other has a four-one-nine area code, so I assume it has to be one of your parents, because your manager isn’t going to have a Lima phone number.

Rachel stares out the side window. “I told you, I’m between projects.”

Quinn leaves it alone, for a little while, but she can’t seem to shake that there’s more to this. Usually, Rachel is someone who’s always working on _something_ and is ready to talk anyone’s ear off about whatever upcoming musical she’s workshopping or cabaret show she’s headlining. Through college, her Facebook page was always full of announcements and even up until last year, Quinn was getting event invites for every item on Rachel’s performance schedule.

“But won’t they won’t they at least be wondering where you a--”

“--I’m not a child, Quinn!” Rachel finally turns to look at her. “I’m an adult. I can take time off and not have to report to someone about every single thing I’m doing.” Everything about her tone is short and annoyed, something that doesn’t happen very often. Not to this degree. This isn’t like someone stepped on her solo. This is deeper than that.

“Sorry,” Quinn offers, a little thrown by Rachel’s shift in mood. “I just thought…”

“I took some time off.” It sits there, as an explanation and Quinn’s ready to accept it, but then Rachel continues. “I knew the wedding was coming up, so I told John I was taking a hiatus.”

“You could have just said that.”

“I didn’t know you were so preoccupied with my work schedule.”

“I’m not preoccupied. I just wanted to make sure someone doesn’t think you’ve gone missing.”

“Trust me, they don’t.”

“When are you supposed to be back?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rachel’s back to watching the scenery pass by the window as she mumbles something Quinn can’t quite make out.

“What?”

“I said the _hiatus is indefinite_.”

“Wait, why?”

“ _Because I need a break_!” Rachel shouts.

Quinn grips the wheel tightly. She’s a little startled by Rachel’s outburst, but she maintains control of the truck. Behind them, JD’s collar jingles as she stands up, unsure why someone is yelling.

“It’s okay, girl,” Quinn says to the dog. “Lie back down.” There’s a canine huff and then JD complies with the order. Her attention returns to Rachel. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” but there’s absolutely no resolve to Rachel’s reply and Quinn’s doesn’t chase after any.

They stop for a meal break at the halfway point, somewhere in Nebraska, and it’s been long enough for Quinn to absorb Rachel’s mini-meltdown, or whatever it was that happened.

“It makes sense that you’d want a vacation,” Quinn reasons while they wait in line to place their sandwich order at the Sub Station. “You’ve been going strong since college and it’s probably a lot of pressure.”

“More than you know.”

“I’m sure people expect a lot from you, especially after debuting in _Funny Girl_ , like you did.”

Rachel just stands there, arms tightly folded over herself. “It’s… their expectations are… I had a lucky break at the beginning.”

“And you’ve launched a great career. You’ve been in New York a few years and you’ve already starred in multiple shows. That’s… incredible.”

The line moves forward and it’s Quinn’s turn to order, but when she turns to Rachel to ask what she wants, Rachel says, “You know, I’m not really hungry. I’ll wait at the truck.”

She’s gone before Quinn can stop her, so Quinn order herself a turkey sandwich and mixed green salad to take back to Rachel. She takes her time, eating by herself at a small booth, figuring Rachel might also just want to be alone. They’ve been around each other twenty-four seven since this trip began and maybe that’s why they’ve been so testy with each other.

You know, in addition to the fact that they had sex, last night.

When she makes her way back to parking lot, JD’s on her leash and Rachel’s walking her around the truck. As Quinn gets closer, she can see that Rachel’s eyes are red, like she’s been crying.

Not _like_. She _has_ been crying.

“I got you a salad,” is all Quinn can think to say, because she doesn’t know if she’s directly upset Rachel or if she’s just thinking about a life without Barbra or what. But really, it wouldn’t be the first time Quinn Fabray made Rachel Berry cry.

“Thank you,” Rachel says, accepting the plastic container in her free hand.

“I’ll put the dog up if you want,” Quinn offers.

Rachel nods and Quinn takes the leash, whistling to signal that it’s time for JD to hop up into the truck cab. She does her walkaround as Rachel follows after the dog and when Quinn reclaims her own place behind the driver’s seat, Rachel just sits quietly with the salad sitting on her lap.

“Look,” Quinn begins. “I know I was kind of a jerk today. I… wasn’t trying to make you upset. Or… I was a little, but not like this.”

Rachel shakes her head as she blows her nose on a napkin. “You didn’t… I mean, you did. But this is… Quinn, I don’t think I’m cut out for Broadway.”

“Right,” Quinn scoffs. “And Santana just called to tell me she’s marrying a nice Christian man she met at a Jesus retreat.”

But Rachel isn’t laughing. “I mean it. I had a great debut and I’ve been working but… it’s hard.”

“Yeah, because it’s professional show business, you know that. You’ve known that longer than any of us.”

“No, Quinn. It’s _really_ hard.”

“Like the physical stuff?” Quinn’s having difficulty following, because Rachel has been training her entire life for this exact career, like an Olympic athlete, but with music and lyrics. She also doesn’t have time to sit and have this conversation because they need to get moving to stay on schedule. But she also doesn’t want Rachel to think she doesn’t care, so she continues to ask questions as she maneuvers out of the parking lot. “Have you thought about getting a trainer? Or… do you have one already?”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and every other Sunday,” Rachel rattles off. “And no, I don’t need to call her, either, because that’s included in the hiatus.” She stares at the salad that’s still resting on her lap. “I wasn’t talking about physical fitness, anyway.”

“Okay. I’m just trying to figure out what you mean when you say it’s really hard. Because you’ve been living and breathing damn showtunes and productions your entire life.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m good enough.”

“So this is a self esteem thing?” Quinn’s trying to comprehend a world where Rachel Berry questions her self worth on a Broadway stage.

“It’s… just forget it.” Rachel unhooks her seat belt so she can reach the mini fridge and stashes the salad inside. As she settles back down and clicks the belt back into place, she shakes her head. “You won’t understand.”

“I’m trying to.” Quinn keeps glancing over at Rachel, waiting for more information, but the other girl just sits there. “Rachel.”

“They don’t like me.” It’s quiet and Quinn barely hears it. But she does.

“What? That’s… what do you mean they don’t _like_ you?”

“I’m never right for anything.”

“But you’ve been getting steady work for years. You debuted as Fanny Brice.”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t ready to play her. I was too young, for starters. It’s nearly impossible to get anyone to consider me in a role that’s age appropriate. When I audition, they expect someone older. Or taller.”

“Yeah, but the second they hear you sing, it shouldn’t matter.”

“The few occasions I get the opportunity, it does help. But then I end up with secondary roles, not leads.”

“You’re upset that you’re not landing leads?” Quinn doesn’t want to roll her eyes, but it’s instinctual and Rachel happens to be looking at her when it happens.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, Rachel. I’m not saying… you’re perfectly capable of headlining any show you want. I just… maybe you just have to play some supporting roles for a while.”

“Quinn, you don’t get it.” Rachel sits up. “I’m not ethnic enough to play Maria in _West Side Story_ , too ethnic to play Nellie in _South Pacific_ , too young _and_ too ethnic to play Mary Poppins and they see me as too old to play Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz_. My range isn’t right to play Rizzo and I absolutely made a fool out of myself at that audition. I was told I’m ‘too homely’ to play Roxie Hart. When I do get callbacks, I lose out to bigger name stars. Or that bitch from American Idol who stole Sarah Brown right out from under me.” She takes a breath and Quinn’s trying to formulate a reply, but then Rachel continues. “And I’m just just too damn short to play Ripley in the _Alien_ musical!” That must be the most recent, because it sends Rachel back into tears.

“Shit. I didn’t realize it was… Hey…” Quinn wants to pull over, but they’re on the interstate, so she settles on reaching over to pat Rachel’s shoulder. It’s awkward though and Rachel curls up against the door.

“Can you just leave me alone for awhile?” Rachel asks.

“Yeah.” Quinn puts both hands back on the wheel and stares out at the stretch of blacktop in front of them. After a while, she turns the radio on, volume low, because Rachel’s eyes are closed and Quinn doesn’t want to disturb her.

Hours later, when the truck pulls into a truck stop in Denver, there hasn’t been any further conversation. Quinn navigates to the area with the fuel pumps, because she needs to fill up. As she’s about to hop down out of the cab, Rachel speaks up, for the first time since that afternoon.

“Should I take her for a walk?”

It’s later in the evening, but the area is well lit, so Quinn feels like it’s safe. She’s been protective of Rachel this entire trip, because she knows what it’s like to be a woman on the road. But she can tell Rachel just wants some time to herself. “Yeah, sure.”

As Quinn disappears behind the shut door of the cab, her cigarettes still sitting on the dash, Rachel secures the leash around JD’s neck. She glances at the pack, then casually stashes it in the glove compartment. “I should think about getting someone like you when I get back home,” she says, giving the dog a heavy scratch behind the ears. JD gives a quick whine in agreement, then Rachel leads her down out of the truck and toward an open area of the truck stop.

The dog sniffs around and Rachel takes in the sight of the open Colorado sky. This whole trip has reminded her that there’s so much more to see than just the hustle and bustle of the city. Even though she’s standing a thousand feet away from dozens of semis, the air here is cleaner than back in New York. She wonders what the city air has been doing her lungs.

“Hey.” It’s a man’s voice and it’s coming from somewhere behind her. Rachel turns to see a guy sitting on a picnic bench. “Yeah, hey. You out here all alone?”

“Come on, JD,” Rachel says, already moving back toward the direction of the fuel pumps. But the dog won’t budge. She’s looking in the direction of the man, eyes steely as she watches him.

“You somebody’s bitch?” the man asks. He’s on his feet and moving toward Rachel.

JD, the dog who has been nothing but sweet and friendly since Rachel was first introduced to her, growls and barks at the man, teeth bared. The leash is taut as JD steps between Rachel and the guy, who’s now trying to close in, though he’s wary now that he’s faced with a snarling canine.

“Call off your dog, _bitch_.” He says. But he doesn’t move.

“Why don’t you back off, asshole,” comes Quinn’s voice from the nearby distance.

His eyes quickly shift from Rachel to Quinn, then to Quinn’s hand, which has something glinting in it. “Fuck you.” But he quickly retreats in the other direction. JD barks one last time, then circles over to Quinn.

Rachel’s shoulders drop and she immediately realizes how tense she was. “Oh my god.”

“You okay?” Quinn asks.

“Yeah.” Rachel looks more closely at what Quinn has in her grasp. “Is that a gun?”

“Taser. I heard JD’s warning bark and…”

“Thank you.”

“We should get inside.”

Rachel nods and walks back to the truck with Quinn, JD trotting along beside them. They’ve been snacking all afternoon, so dinner isn’t really a priority, but a hot shower is something they both need. They’re planning to sleep in the bunk tonight, so Quinn signs them up to use the showers at the truck stop and they wait for their number to come over the loudspeaker.

The incident in the parking lot has Quinn keeping herself in a tight radius around Rachel, not letting her more than ten feet away, and Rachel’s grateful for the watchful eye, but she’s also just tired of feeling helpless. Though, that’s not just relegated to this evening. She feels that way about her life, right now. She used to have control, make her own choices, force people to pay attention to her. She was front and center and in demand, because she was the best. Except, in New York, in the Broadway talent circles, everyone is the best because they have to be.

“Hey.” There’s a male voice sounding next to her and Rachel cautiously looks to her left. An older man stands there, Harley Davidson t-shirt tight around his belly.

“Um, yes?” Rachel reminds herself that she’s inside the store and that Quinn is nearby.

“I like your shirt. I love America.” He raises a fist in solidarity.

Rachel looks down at the eagle and American flag image that’s emblazoned across her chest. “Thank you,” she replies, relieved and delighted at the compliment. The man nods and continues on. When Rachel turns around, Quinn is watching. Before she can ask if Rachel’s all right, Rachel just says, “He likes my shirt.”

That’s enough to get a light laugh out of Quinn. Their number is called and Rachel follows her down a hall, toward a door with the corresponding numeral on it. They step into the shower room, which is basically like a single stall restroom, but there’s a semi-enclosed tiled shower area in the corner. Quinn hangs the two towels she’s brought along on the hooks located on the far wall, then sets her toiletry bag on the sink counter.

“Look, about earlier, I didn’t realize you were having such a hard time,” Quinn says.

“I’m sorry I’m not allowing you to live vicariously through my successes.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! Is that… do you think that’s what I’ve been doing?” Quinn’s expression is one of genuine offense.

“Isn’t that what everyone’s been doing?”

“I don’t know. I’m not everyone. I just know I’ve supported you because I believe in you.” Quinn’s arms cross as she leans against the sink. “Are you getting in or what?”

Rachel looks at the shower. There’s no curtain or door. “I’m just supposed to strip down naked in front of you?”

Quinn mutters, “Not like I didn’t see that last night,” but she respectfully angles herself toward the wall and away from Rachel.

“The circumstances were a little different.” Rachel pulls off her clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the small bench outside the shower.

While she waits for the water to warm up, she hears Quinn say, “I really can’t believe you just think I’m trying to get some kind of secondary satisfaction through you.”

“Are you talking about the sex or my career?” Rachel asks.

“Your career,” Quinn turns, out of habit, and catches sight of Rachel stepping into the shower. She quickly shifts back the other way. “The sex was…” The sex is suddenly fresh in her mind after what she’s just seen.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Good.” It’s already steaming up in the small space, so Quinn unbuttons her plaid shirt and removes it, along with her jeans, leaving her in a white tank top and her underwear.

“Unless you feel like we should.”

“We’ve gone all day without doing that.” Now that Rachel’s in the shower, she’s blocked by the edge of the shower entryway, so Quinn allows herself to stop staring off into the corner.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Rachel peeks out of the shower and Quinn can’t seen anything other than her face.

Quinn leans closer. “Nothing. We don’t have to talk about anything. Hurry up.”

“It’s not like I can use all the hot water.”

“We only get thirty minutes.”

“What?” Rachel’s head is back under the spray.

“Hurry up!” Quinn calls louder.

“Don’t rush me!” Rachel responds, apparently hearing her this time, “You aren’t giving me time _or_ privacy.”

“I’m not paying for two showers. I have driver points here, but I only have so many,” Quinn grunts, though it’s more than frugality. After what happened when Rachel walked the dog, Quinn doesn’t even want to be in a separate shower space.

“Well if you wanted to watch me shower, you should’ve just asked,” Rachel snaps, glaring around the corner of the shower again.

“Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly what I’m doing now,” Quinn gestures to herself, leaning against the outer shower wall now, unable to see into the shower at all.

“It will give me great practice for doing nude scenes. Because I may as well at this point,” Rachel continues bitterly. “Maybe some of those late night Skinemax movies.”

Quinn rolls her eyes, hard, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a fucking star, and it’s the problem of these idiots that they can’t see that.” It’s frustrating, though, trying to reassure Rachel without even being able to see her. A part of Quinn _does_ want to watch her, for that reason, so she can make eye contact.

Abruptly, that’s not the only kind of contact she’s thinking about.

“Well, I’m so sorry for failing to live up to your expectations,” Rachel responds sarcastically. And Quinn nearly tears her hair out. It’s clear that either Rachel can’t hear her clearly, or just isn’t listening, so she just forgets about propriety and marches into the shower with Rachel.

Rachel’s eyes widen and she twists her body away for a moment, but Quinn doesn’t really register it because she is trying to talk to her. “I am _not_ upset with _you_. I’m upset with _them_ , for wasting all your talent, for not seeing you for the star you have _always_ been. You are an _amazing_ performer, and I’m pissed off at the Broadway culture for _not seeing that_.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Quinn just stands, slowly getting damp from the peripheral shower spray, until Rachel suddenly reaches out and yanks Quinn toward her by one strap of her tank top.

They’re both under the spray and kissing before Quinn can consider anything else she can say to try to give Rachel back her confidence.

Rachel pushes Quinn against the wall, and Quinn tries to shake her hair out of her eyes, but it’s hard, when Rachel’s mouth barely leaves hers. She’s already soaked, tank top clinging to her body, and her hands are all over Rachel’s wet, naked skin. And Rachel is touching her, hands sliding beneath the tank top to find her bare breasts.

At this point, Quinn doesn’t feel much like struggling out of the soaking wet clothes sticking to her skin, especially not when Rachel Berry is completely naked in front of her. So she moves her hand with more purpose, sliding down until it’s between Rachel’s legs, and she begins to touch, moving her fingers in slow circles.

If this is what Rachel needs, Quinn will give it to her. It’s not as though she doesn’t want to, and after all, she’s never been good at saying no to Rachel, even when she’s sure it will be bad for Rachel, in the long run. Of course, maybe it’s _herself_ that it will be bad for, Rachel’s just looking for release, and Quinn...

Rachel hisses when Quinn touches her, eyes fluttering, and she murmurs, “You bitch,” but it’s playful, sort of. Still, it just makes Quinn move her hand more firmly, because by god, she _knows_ how to be a bitch, at least.

But then Rachel twists somehow, and escapes from Quinn’s hand, and she’s pressed more firmly up against Quinn, writhing against her. She presses her thigh between Quinn’s and they’re rocking together, Quinn grabbing Rachel’s ass and running nails down her back while Rachel braces her against the wall, free hand pinching Quinn’s nipples through her thin shirt; for Quinn, a bra isn’t always necessary.

Quinn, however, isn’t quite ready to give up, and she snakes a hand between their bodies, caressing Rachel’s breasts before twisting her wrist to again touch between her legs. Rachel moans breathily and lifts her hips just enough that Quinn can move her hand further, and slide down far enough to press two fingers inside.

Rachel groans at that, hands fisting into the front of Quinn’s tank top, hard, but not to be outdone, Rachel then reaches her own hand down the front of Quinn’s underpants, taking a moment to stroke her clit before sliding fingers inside.

For a moment, it feels like Quinn has entered some sort of bizarre competitive finger banging event, because every stroke of her fingers that elicits some sort of gasp from Rachel is returned with a deep thrust of Rachel’s own hand. Quinn uses her free hand to tilt up Rachel’s face so they can kiss, and that’s almost too messy to be very effective, and after a few clashes of teeth, Rachel pulls her mouth away to suck and bite on Quinn’s neck instead.

It’s when Rachel moves her mouth down to run her tongue over Quinn’s breasts, the wet fabric intensifying sensation against her sensitive nipples, that Quinn starts to feel the dip in her belly. She can’t concentrate on trying to keep her rhythm inside Rachel and instead feels herself clenching around Rachel’s fingers inside her, as her back bows off the wall, and she moans, curling the fingers of her free hand in Rachel’s hair as she comes.

She recovers quickly enough, probably because her fingers are still inside the tight wet heat of Rachel Berry’s pussy. That’s enough to snap her back into focus, and then she’s thrusting, tweaking nipples. She knows Rachel is getting close when she starts talking.

“Oh my god, _fuck you_ , Quinn, just fuck you, fuck, harder, that feels so fucking good, you bitch, deeper, god, fuck, just like that, your fingers are so fucking perfect, oh my god, you--” she tilts forward to sink her teeth into Quinn’s collarbone, and Quinn hears the muffled moans as she feels the pulsing waves around her fingers, as Rachel jerks her hips in a long orgasm.

Quinn just breathes, revelling in the feeling, allowing her head to clear, and gently removes her fingers. It’s then that she notices the muffled noises against her shoulder haven’t really stopped.

She doesn’t say anything, just wraps her arms around Rachel to draw her closer, and holds her tightly under the periphery of the shower spray, as Rachel sobs against her chest.


	11. Chapter 11

They’re in the truck bunk, Quinn’s still damp hair splayed across the pillows while Rachel’s head rests against her shoulder. The quiet that’s followed their shower, the actual shower they took after Rachel calmed down enough to let Quinn wash her hair before using the final few minutes to soap up herself and get clean, isn’t the awkward kind they’ve been fighting all afternoon. It’s an exhausted silence, because neither of them have the energy to say much. Not verbally.

Something’s being said in the way Quinn’s fingers lightly trail across the center of Rachel’s back or the content hum from Rachel as she sighs against Quinn’s neck.

They’re dressed, at least partially, because they had to exit the travel center showers and cross through the parking lot to get here. Rachel’s shorts are on the floor of the truck, right next to Quinn’s jeans. Quinn has chosen to give Rachel a reprieve from the novelty t-shirts and loaned her a well worn gray v-neck while she’s wearing another of the same white undershirts she practically washed in the shower. This one, however, is dry.

“Are you tired?” Quinn’s asks, quietly. It’s pushing into the later evening, but it’s still a little early for sleep.

“Kind of, but I’m not ready to fall asleep.”

“If you want to watch a movie or something on the iPad, we can.”

“I don’t mind just lying here. It’s… nice.”

That’s enough to make Quinn smile to herself. She likes the way this feels, Rachel curled against her. It’s comfortable and relaxed. Something about it just feels right.

Mostly. Her back has a habit of stiffening up when she lies a certain way, especially after long days behind the wheel. She shifts a little, trying not to jostle Rachel, but she ends up with brown eyes looking right at her when Rachel lifts her head. “Sorry. I think I just need to stretch for a second.”

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you earlier, did I?”

“It’s not from anything you did.” Quinn twists and turns, letting the muscles of her lower back flex and groaning lightly at the pull she feels. “I usually give myself a couple nights in a hotel when I’m on these trips, because this joke of a mattress isn’t really ideal.”

“Can I do anything?”

“It’s okay.”

“Quinn, I insist. Turn over.” Rachel gestures for Quinn to lie on her stomach.

“Are you certified?” It’s teasing, but Rachel huffs.

“I dated a professional dancer, if you recall. I know a little bit about relieving muscle pain.” Once Quinn settles, Rachel kneels next to her and pushes her shirt upward. “Take this off.”

Quinn obliges, because it’s been a while since anyone’s offered to rub her back. “It’s my lower back.”

Rachel glides a hand over the expanse of Quinn’s bare skin, starting at her shoulders and moving down across her back until she’s past the base of the ribcage. Her fingers delicately graze over the space where she knows Quinn once had a tattoo. “Did you get it removed?”

“Yeah,” Quinn nods against her pillow. “Mom paid for it when I graduated from college. She insisted it would help me as a young professional. Maybe if I’d known what kind of profession I was getting into, I would have kept it.”

Gently, Rachel works her fingers against the muscles of Quinn’s back, feeling for any tightness. As she moves to the left, she notices some raised marks and immediately recognizes them as scars. “Oh god, is this from…”

“They don’t hurt,” Quinn insists.

But Rachel’s looking more closely and she can see that some of them stretch across to Quinn’s hip. “Quinn…” There are more on her left thigh, too. Most of them are faint, especially in the dim light of the truck, but that doesn’t make Rachel feel any less responsible for any one of them. “I’m so sorry. I always knew you were hurt, but I didn’t think about the scars. And, now your back problems…”

“Hey,” Quinn twists to look over her shoulder. “You didn’t do this to me, okay?”

“I…”

“No. We’ve already been over this.” Quinn sits upright and puts her hands on Rachel’s upper arms. “You. _Did not_. Do this to me.” She raises a hand and forces Rachel’s chin upward, so she can look at her. “Okay?”

Rachel nods, though it’s slight. “Okay,” she breathes. As she leans forward, arms looping around Quinn’s bare body, there’s a press of Quinn’s lips to her forehead. It’s sweet and it’s reassuring. It’s everything Rachel was missing this morning. She tips her head back upward, lips catching Quinn’s jaw, then finding her mouth and kissing her. It’s gentle, unlike their attempts in the shower, earlier. This is sweet security in the arms of someone who believes in her.

Quinn kisses back, delicate fingers brushing Rachel’s hair away from her face. Slowly, they push back down onto the bed together, Rachel over Quinn, cautiously aware of her sore back as she nuzzles against Quinn’s neck, kissing pale skin while their fingers tangle and lock together. Her mouth drifts lower and she can see the spot from earlier, where she evidently bit Quinn hard enough to leave bruised skin behind. “Sorry about that,” she murmurs, but Quinn shushes her.

“Stop with the apologies.”

Rachel’s response is to kiss the spot, then she adjusts her focus downward. Quinn is topless underneath her and--

There’s a loud rapping on the driver’s side door. Quinn sits up and looks to JD, who’s already on her feet as she barks.

“Shhh, girl.” Quinn has a protective arm looped around Rachel as she listens.

“Anyone in there looking for a good time?” comes a woman’s voice from outside the truck.

Quinn speaks up in a voice that’s much higher than her regular register and almost adopting a Southern accent. “No, thank you! We’re fine.”

“Aw, shit,” replies the voice from outside. Rachel’s almost certain she hears the sound of heels clicking against the pavement as the individual runs away.

“What was that?” Rachel whispers.

“Lot lizard,” Quinn explains. “Like special hookers for truckers. Usually, when they hear a woman’s voice, they worry someone’s wife is about to kick their ass.”

“You know, you _are_ a woman. You don’t need to use a fake voice.” Rachel’s amused and she can’t help the small bout of giggles that surfaces.

“It just helps to take it up a notch because my natural register is a little low.”

“How do you know they won’t offer their services to you, anyway? Sex workers can be versatile.”

“It’s the parking lot of a Flying J, not Amsterdam.”

“It still wouldn’t hurt to ask. I can go get her.”

Rachel sits up, as if she’s about to chase after the prostitute, but Quinn tugs her right back down. “Stay.”

“Are you talking to me or JD?”

“JD’s much better at doing what she’s told, actually.”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” Rachel asks, propping herself up on an elbow as she lies next to Quinn. “Someone who follows direct orders?”

“I’m not _looking_ for anything.” Quinn draws her fingers back and forth over the tan arm that’s draped across her stomach. “And I know better than to expect you to do anything I say.”

“I just did what you told me!”

‘Okay, like, seven percent of the time, maybe. But usually you never listen to me.”

“What? When?”

“Uh, how about every time you ever came to me about any kind of advice? You almost always ignored everything I said.”

Rachel’s brow furrows as she recalls the moments from her past when she sought out Quinn for guidance. “I guess I never realized that.”

“Hey,” Quinn’s had a long time to think about all of this and she’s not holding any kind of a grudge. “We were kids.”

“Most of the time I don’t really feel like I’ve grown any older. Unless I’m at an audition, anyway,” Rachel frowns.

“We can talk about that and… all of this tomorrow. It’s about ten hours to Vegas, so we’ll have plenty of time.” Quinn’s arms pull Rachel snugly against her. “For now, let’s just…”

“Keep quiet so the Lizard Ladies don’t hear us?” Rachel whispers.

“Like you could keep quiet to save your life.”

“I can!” Rachel exclaims, only to have Quinn shush her. “I can. I was hiding in the back of your truck for hours before you noticed me.”

“You were asleep.”

“And I was quiet.”

“That doesn’t count.”

There’s a playful huff from Rachel while Quinn shifts to find the most comfortable position for her back. Once she’s settled, Rachel wraps herself around Quinn and quickly falls into an easy, content sleep.

When Rachel wakes up, it’s still pretty dark, and she immediately remembers their night, its soft… intimacy. She sighs out a contented sigh and turns over to snuggle closer to Quinn.

Which is when she realizes Quinn isn’t in the bunk with her.

Worry knots her belly, tears spring to her eyes, and she’s groping around on the floor for her shorts. She can’t _believe_ this is happening again, that Quinn is going to pretend that there isn’t something going on here. If she weren’t so worried about making it to Vegas so she could go home, she’d give Quinn a piece of her mind.

The passenger door opens, and JD’s collar jingles excitedly from the seat. “No, girl,” Quinn commands, moving around the dog and approaching Rachel, “Hey,” she smiles, and bends down to give Rachel a peck on the lips. “I got coffee and muffins. We have,” she glances at the truck’s dashboard, “ten minutes to enjoy them before we really need to get on the road.” She’s lifting the sheets, urging Rachel to move over so she can get back in the bunk, handing Rachel a coffee and a paper bag as she settles back in next to her.

Rachel stares for a moment, relief flooding her. Ten minutes. “Where’s your phone?” she asks.

“Who are you calling this early?” Quinn asks, eyebrow rising.

“Just give it to me.”

Quinn shrugs and reaches toward the dashboard to grab it and hands it to Rachel. Rachel opens it, then sets the alarm feature for ten minutes. “Ten minutes,” she repeats, setting the phone down.

Quinn laughs lightly. Though she has to admit it is nice that she won’t have to keep glancing at the clock while she’s enjoying her morning in bed with Rachel.

“Your muffin is in the bag,” Quinn gestures to the one she handed Rachel.

“Can we just… cuddle?” Rachel asks tentatively.

There’s a pause, and Quinn smiles a little, “Of course,” she replies, and moves the coffee and muffins out of JD’s reach, then slides back into the bed and draws Rachel to her.

Ten minutes of cuddling and light kisses later, the alarm goes off. Rachel moves to sit up, but Quinn’s arms just hold her tighter, for several long seconds, before she sighs and sits up herself. She swipes her hair out of her eyes and murmurs, “I’m going to quickly walk JD, and then we’ll get going. We’ll stop at a rest stop in an hour or two to brush our teeth and get cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel nods, and takes her seat. She’s not really all that hungry, but she starts on her muffin and coffee.

In only a minute or so, Quinn is ushering the dog back up into the truck and then getting in herself. She takes a long sip of coffee before starting the engine, and they’re on their way.

It’s quiet for awhile, but a comfortable silence. Quinn eats her muffin, a little messily given that her attention stays on the road and her hands tend to stay on the wheel. After their coffees are finished, they do make a rest stop, and cleaning up seems to help Rachel wake up, so once they get back in the truck, they start to talk.

“When did you know?” Rachel begins the conversation abruptly.

“That I…wanted to be a trucker?” Quinn asks uncertainly.

“No. That you were gay.”

“Oh,” Quinn pauses for a moment, and then explains, “High school, sort of. I was starting to realize it, anyway. Things fell into place when I had sex with Santana, but even then, I was sure my life would be so much easier if I could find a way to make it work with guys. A year or so of that brought me nothing but frustration, so I gave up and just quietly came out.”

“Oh,” Rachel answers.

“What about you?”

“Well, even in high school, I was aware that I was attracted to women. I just didn’t think I’d ever date one, because I clicked so much better romantically with men. But…it turned out that I click just as well romantically with women. As messy as my relationship with Cassie was, it at least proved that. And once she and I were seeing each other, there was no need to pretend I wasn’t bisexual.” She frowns, “Though, admittedly, it’s still not really public knowledge.”

Quinn thinks back to the Broadway gossip blogs and forums she peruses from time to time. Rachel’s sexuality had been scrutinized quite a few times, particularly with regard to a female costar she worked with on _Tank Girl: the Musical_. So it was true that her sexuality wasn’t exactly public, but that didn’t mean people weren’t trying to make it so.

But she just nods, “I realize I never made any kind of huge announcement about being gay myself, and I haven’t had a steady girlfriend at the time to bring to any gatherings of high school people. My mom knows, though, and Santana, obviously. And Puck, of course, since he’s a kind of inescapable part of my life. And the college friends I still keep in touch with. Otherwise…” She shrugs, “It just hasn’t concerned me much to ensure that everyone from Lima knows.”

Rachel makes a sound, something between a hum and laugh. “Quinn.”

“What?”

“Are you sure that this…” Rachel’s hand pats the door of the cab. “Isn’t some kind of statement?”

“What?” Quinn repeats. “You mean the truck?”

“It’s a stereotype, sure. But I know that the second you pulled up in this thing, everyone half-expected you to have a buzz cut and Georgia O’Keefe tattoo on your shoulder.”

“That’s stupid. I started doing this because it meant I’d have time to myself and not have to deal with anyone else’s crap.”

“The lone lesbian out on the highway.” It’s like a recitation of a poem, the way Rachel’s enunciating.

“Yeah well, whatever I’m doing out here, no one’s blogging about it.” Quinn’s mind is still on Rachel’s recent past, at least the bits and pieces she’s seen online.

Rachel’s face falls, “Ah. Yeah. At least you have some privacy.”

The silence is a bit tense for a few moments, until Quinn says awkwardly, “Sorry if I…”

“No,” Rachel shakes her head, “No, you didn’t say anything that upset me. It just brought back some frustrating memories.”

“Ah,” Quinn answers, not pushing.

There’s another moment of awkward silence, then, “I _want_ to be out,” Rachel explains, sounding defeated.

“You... want to be out?” Quinn repeats, waiting for more.

“You know me, Quinn. I’m not the kind of person who easily hides who I am. But my manager, my directors…everyone. They’ve stressed to me that to be successful, I need to be discreet. And…it’s hard for me.”

“I can see how that would be.”

“It was the worst during _Tank Girl_ ,” Rachel laments, “That’s when I was seeing Rita.”

Inwardly, Quinn feels validated, because those rumors she had been following online had been true. “The lead, right?”

Rachel casts an intrigued eye her way, “I didn’t think you came to see that show.”

“I…didn’t, I…just heard about it some.” And maybe Quinn had watched a bootleg of it on YouTube.

Rachel hums interestedly, then says, “Yes, she was the lead, and we were seeing each other while the show was running. She was so gorgeous, and so talented, and had this _energy_ about her that made spending time with her so exciting. It was hard _not_ to be enthralled by her. And we kept getting warned that we needed to be more discreet, that we shouldn’t be seen in public together, because people in the Broadway community were starting to talk…” Rachel then turns to look at Quinn fully, “Sounds like you might know something about that.”

Quinn fumbles a little, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you recognized my ex’s name, when you really had no reason to.”

Quinn sighs. “Alright. I’ll admit it wasn’t such a surprise when you told me you had been with women. I’d heard some things.”

“See?” Rachel fumes, “It’s so stupid that we had to hide. We weren’t very good at it. And Rita was even angrier than I was about having to hide. She pushed back so hard. In the end, being completely unable to really enjoy dating--being unable to go anywhere, or be affectionate, or even tweet each other, and constantly having to pretend… it destroyed our relationship.”

“That’s awful,” Quinn sympathizes.

Rachel shrugs awkwardly, “I haven’t really dated much since her. Mostly casual, and mostly guys. They were safer.” She’s quiet, then asks, “So, what about you?”

Quinn lifts a shoulder. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve told you about Cassie and Rita. They were probably my most serious relationships, with women, anyway.” Her expression brightens, “Tell me about the first girl you fell in love with.”

 _That_ question makes Quinn lose her breath for a moment, but she figures she can just talk about college. “Well. After I stopped trying to date guys in college, there was this girl. She was an English student, but she also sang, and she had an incredible dramatic soprano voice. I met her in one of my electives, and we clicked, and I joined women’s choir to get closer to her.”

“I didn’t know you sang in college! I would’ve come to hear your performances!” Rachel laments.

Quinn laughs a little, “It was really just for that one semester. We dated until the summer, then she went home to South Carolina, and I went home to Lima, and we just couldn’t sustain it. We visited each other twice during the summer break, but by the time the semester started back up again, we realized it wasn’t going to work. But she was a nice first girlfriend.”

Rachel nods, “That’s good,” she encourages.

“But I don’t know that I really fell in love with her,” Quinn confesses, “My second girlfriend, though, I did. She was an art student, she worked with oil paints, and she was good. It was really refreshing to talk to someone who had some _goals_ in life, you know? Most people in college have no idea what they want. She was quiet and intellectual. But, in the end…” Quinn hesitates, “This is going to sound weird, but… in the end, we didn’t work out because I didn’t think she was being pragmatic enough about her dreams. I loved her. But we just couldn’t agree on how to live while she worked on making her art profitable.”

“I understand that,” Rachel says. “It’s like me and Cassie. I couldn’t keep holding her up, she had to learn to help herself.”

“Kind of,” Quinn agrees, “I wasn’t ready to sign on to be a breadwinner for someone, you know?”

“And since then?” Rachel asks.

Quinn shakes her head, “Not really anything serious since then. Most women aren’t interested in anything long-term once they find out what I do. That I really won’t have much time for them. When you live in the same city as someone, they really aren’t looking for what amounts to a long-distance relationship. That’s why I tend to stick with casual hookups. Like Trina.”

“I still have no idea what you see in her,” Rachel rolls her eyes.

Quinn chuckles, “She challenges me, sort of, you know? I mean, like, directly, when we talk to each other. Not in any kind of romantic way.”

Rachel laughs, “She’s like that, yes.”

There’s a comfortable silence now, as they digest what they’ve told each other. Quinn reflects that this is a lot like many conversations that begin relationships, where you talk about each others’ sexual history.

Except this isn’t the start of a relationship, at all.

And abruptly, Rachel squeals, “Oh, I love this song!” and turns up the radio to sing along to “We’ve Only Just Begun” by the Carpenters.

Maybe it does say something that Quinn can’t even bring herself to berate Rachel for touching the radio.


End file.
